liank  B.  Adonvr 


fiowvirv 


When  I  had  caught  her  and  punished  her  as  she  deserved  for 

desertion  I  still  held  her  tight  in  my  arms  for  fear 

she  would  escape  me  again.    See  page  338 


FIVE  FRIDAYS 


BY 

FRANK  R.  ADAMS 

Illustrated  by 

FRANK  GODWIN 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1915 

BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
(Incorporated) 


8,  J.  I'AXKBILI,  A  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


In  Order 
To  Divide  the  Responsibility 

For  This 

I  Dedicate  it  to  Her 
Who  is  Responsible  for  Me 


2134097 


"Fasti  et  nefasti  dies." 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    FAST  ASHORE i 

II    MAROONED 29 

III  THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN  ....     55 

IV  MYSTERY 77 

V    ALONG  CAME  ROSALIND 93 

VI    LIPTON  S.  CLAIR 103 

VII    FIVE  FRIDAYS 115 

VIII    ENGAGED,  IF — 139 

IX    FOUND  BY  'PHONE 147 

X     THE  CLAM  HUNTER 157 

XI  Miss  DUNMORE  Is  CONCERNED  .     .      .   175 

XII  "On,  MY  POOR  TOOTLES!"  ....   183 

XIII  FURTHER  MYSTERY 195 

XIV  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  SOUP 203 

XV  THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE      .     .     .  213 

XVI  THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  "MERRY  WIDOW"  .  227 

XVII    A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF 241 

XVIII    BACK  TO  GREEN'S  ISLAND 257 

XIX    A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE 265 

XX    "THE  ONLY  WAY" 287 

XXI  WHERE  Is  LIPTON  S.  CLAIR?  .      .      .     .  301 

XXII    A  WEDDING  INVITATION 309 

XXIII  "THE  HONOR  OF  THIEVES"  .     .     .     .319 

XXIV  THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN 329 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FAGS 

When  I  had  caught  her  and  punished  her  as 
she  deserved  for  desertion  I  still  held  her 
tight  in  my  arms  for  fear  she  would  escape 
me  again.  See  Page  338  Frontispiece 

"Oh,  Frank,"  she  exclaimed,  "would  it  make 
any  difference  if  this  wire  were  fastened  to 
something?"  .,'... 40 

The  old  lady  eyed  me  with  evident  suspicion. 
"Is  he  going  to  kiss  me  good-night?"  she 
demanded 64 

"I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,"  Mrs. 
Green  murmured,  overawed  by  the  disap- 
proval of  the  men.  "  I  can't  see  that  I've 
done  anything." 

"Madame,"  the  sheriff  said,  with  gloomy 
politeness,  "you  have  spoiled  the  only 
murder  case  we  ever  had  in  Maskaloon 
County,  that's  what  you  have  done.  Come 
on,  boys." 254 


CHAPTER  ONE 
FAST  ASHORE 


FIVE   FRIDAYS 


CHAPTER  ONE 

E  eat  too  much,"  stated  Lucile  definitely 
while  we  were  having  tea  on  the  front  porch. 

"We  certainly  do,"  I  assented  idly,  thinking 
how  much  clearer  the  air  was  over  the  lake 
than  in  the  city  I  had  just  left. 

"Why  not  give  our  digestive  apparatus  a 
rest?"  she  propounded. 

"Why  not?"  I  rushed  to  my  doom.  I  was 
having  my  two  weeks'  vacation  and  was  too 
happy  at  being  able  to  spend  it  on  the  island 
to  care  anything  about  an  argument. 

"I  suggest  that  we  fast  for  a  week." 

A  suggestion  like  that  put  me  in  a  nice  fix. 
I  don't  mind  stating  that  at  that  time  I  was 
about  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds  of  eligible 
bachelor,  aged  thirty-five,  comfortably  in  love 

3 


4  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

with  Lucile  but  too  old  and  set  in  the  com- 
placent selfishness  of  single  blessedness  ever  to 
pretend  to  be  a  Romeo.  The  idea  of  fasting 
gave  me  a  sinking  sensation  right  where  there 
was  the  most  room  to  sink. 

"What?"  I  ejaculated,  forgetting  for  the 
moment  that  I  had  a  reputation  for  ready 
repartee. 

"I  said,  Why  not  fast  for  a  week?'  I  read 
an  article  by  Lipton  S.  Clair  about  it  just  this 
morning.  He  claims  that  fasting  thoroughly 
rebuilds  the  system,  gets  rid  of  all  toxins  and 
increases  the  mental  efficiency  fifty  per  cent." 

She  picked  up  a  magazine  which  was 
propped  open  face  downward  on  the  lower 
shelf  of  the  porch  table. 

"Listen  to  this,"  she  continued.  "  'Eating 
three  meals  a  day  is  simply  a  habit.  We  have 
made  tyrants  of  our  stomachs.  They  demand 
to  be  fed  every  few  hours  and  if  we  answer 
that  demand  we  are  slaves/  There,  that 
sounds  like  the  reasoning  of  a  thinker,  doesn't 
it?" 

"It  sounds  more  like  the  reasoning  of  a 
thinker  than  of  an  eater." 


FAST  ASHORE  5 

Lucile  reproved  my  flippancy  with  a  glance. 
"I  think  it  would  do  us  all  good." 

"But  I  feel  all  right  now."  I  called  her  at- 
tention to  an  obvious  fact. 

She  dismissed  my  objection.  "You  can't  be 
healthy  unless  you  fast  for  a  week  at  least 
once  a  year.  Lipton  S.  Clair  says  so.  Mother, 
you'll  try  it,  won't  you?" 

"Try  what?"  Her  mother  at  the  other  end 
of  the  porch  laid  down  her  book. 

"Fasting  for  a  week." 

"Why,  yes,  if  you  want  to."  She  picked  up 
her  book  again  as  if  she  had  decided  nothing 
more  momentous  than  a  question  as  to  whether 
she  preferred  cream  or  lemon  in  her  tea.  She 
had  been  used  as  an  experiment  station  for  so 
many  years  that  nothing  surprised  her. 

I  got  up  casually  and  tried  to  slip  indoors, 
but  Lucile  stopped  me.  "Don't  you  think  it 
will  be  lovely,  Montmorency  ?" 

I  collapsed  into  a  chair  which  collapsed  im- 
mediately after  I  did.  She  had  called  me  by 
my  first  name !  Yes,  Montmorency  is  my  first 
name.  It  sounds  like  several  names  but  it  is 
only  my  first.  That  first  name  thing  made  it 


6  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

very  hard  to  refuse.  As  I  sat  there  on  the 
porch  surrounded  by  legs,  rungs  and  other 
component  parts  of  a  chair,  a  terrific  struggle 
went  on  in  my  being  between  my  heart  and 
my  stomach  and  the  weaker  party  won.  Pos- 
sibly my  mind  was  stunned  by  my  fall,  al- 
thought  I  have  no  recollection  of  hitting  my 
head.  I  felt  that  Lucile  was  putting  me  to  the 
test.  From  the  look  in  her  eye  I  knew  that  she 
was  asking  me  to  choose  between  love  and 
beefsteak.  So  rising  phcenixlike,  and  care- 
fully concealing  the  place  where  I  strongly  sus- 
pected that  the  fabric  of  my  trousers  had  been 
pierced  by  a  splinter,  I  answered  bravely,  "Yes, 
I  think  fasting  would  be  delightful." 

So  that  was  how  we  began. 

As  you  can  easily  see,  the  cause  of  the  trouble 
was  that  Lucile  is  one  of  those  persons  who  take 
the  magazine  health  and  hygiene  writers  in 
good  faith.  It  is  impossible  to  convince  her 
that  those  fellows  have  to  make  a  living  by  their 
pens  the  same  as  other  human  authors  and  that 
every  bizarre  idea  they  can  pounce  on  means 
just  so  much  more  copy  at  a  regular  rate  per 
word.  No,  Lucile  must  needs  try  by  experi- 


FAST  ASHORE  7 

ment  every  new  theory,  using  herself  or  any 
convenient  relative  or  friend  as  a  laboratory. 

The  absurdity  of  Lucile's  attempt  to  im- 
prove upon  her  health  and  looks  is  apparent  to 
anyone  who  has  ever  been  blessed  with  a  sight 
of  her.  You  can't  make  a  slim  young  body 
like  hers  by  simply  rolling  on  the  floor  for  an 
hour  every  day  nor  are  soft  brown  eyes  with 
long  curly  lashes  the  result  of  chewing  any  par- 
ticular number  of  times  upon  a  piece  of  steak. 
Nature  must  have  been  experimenting  a  good 
many  centuries  before  she  got  just  that  par- 
ticular texture  for  hair  and  that  peculiar  shade 
of  cream  velvet  for  complexions.  To  attain 
her  sort  of  perfection  it  is  necessary  to  have  a 
set  of  perfectly  good  ancestors  combined  with 
a  lucky  star  and  the  gifts  of  at  least  seven  or 
eight  gods  and  goddesses,  but  Lucile  thinks 
that  she  has  done  it  all  herself  and  acts  as  if  she 
expected  to  become  a  sort  of  crippled  hippo- 
potamus if  she  relaxed  for  a  moment  from  the 
pursuit  of  health. 

At  this  particular  time,  for  nearly  twenty- 
five  years  she  and  nature  had  been  uninter- 
rupted  by  matrimony  in  their  job  of  decorating, 


8  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

so  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  they  had 
turned  out  a  well  nigh  perfect  product.  There 
is  nothing-  unfinished  about  her.  She  looks 
equally  well  in  an  evening  gown  or  a  bathing 
suit,  a  blessing  denied  to  most  women  whose 
beauty  goes  either  to  one  extreme  or  the  other. 

As  you  may  have  gathered,  I  thoroughly  ap- 
prove of  Lucile  as  an  exhibit  in  pulchritude. 
I  cannot  say  that  I  so  fully  endorse  her  mental 
equipment.  For  some  reason  or  other  we  al- 
most never  agree  on  any  subject.  In  some  re- 
spects this  is  an  ideal  state  of  affairs  to  keep 
alive  interesting  relations  between  a  man  and 
a  girl.  The  man  who  finds  himself  liking  the 
same  things  that  his  wife  does  is  doomed.  The 
fact  that  you  almost  always  disagree  with  those 
nearest  and  dearest  to  you  is  nature's  own  de- 
vice for  preserving  individuality. 

Lucile  thinks  she  is  a  Republican  in  politics, 
but  likes  Mr.  Roosevelt  because  he  plays  ten- 
nis, while  my  family  has  always  been  Demo- 
cratic since  before  the  war.  We  never  agreed 
on  any  play  we  ever  saw.  I  suspect  her  opin- 
ion of  being  influenced  almost  entirely  by  the 
profile  of  the  handsome  hero,  while  I — I  am 


FAST  ASHORE  9 

a  dramatic  critic  and  my  opinion  wouldn't  be 
influenced  by  anything  (so  my  enemies  say) 
but  dynamite  or  slow  poison. 

She  sleeps  out  of  doors  on  a  porch  even  in 
the  coldest  weather.  I  prefer  to  woo  Mor- 
pheus in  a  steam-heated  interior.  I,  too,  like 
air,  and  plenty  of  it,  in  some  places,  for  in- 
stance in  automobile  tires.  It  makes  travel- 
ling more  comfortable.  In  my  bedroom,  how- 
ever, when  the  thermometer  is  flirting  with 
zero,  I  can  get  along  all  right -if  the  window  is 
open  only  just  far  enough  to  wedge  in  a  dime. 

The  point  where  Lucile  and  I  find  the  widest 
variant  in  our  opinions  and  tastes  is  in  the  mat- 
ter of  food.  I  like  mine  the  way  you  do  yours, 
but  she  is  a  food  faddist.  She  invites  indiges- 
tion with  all  kinds  of  punk  provender.  Her 
stomach  is  resigned  to  its  fate.  It  has  suffered 
so  much  that  it  is  grateful  for  any  little  thing 
that  is  dropped  into  it  and  is  not  surprised,  no 
matter  what  it  finds  in  its  midst,  so  to  speak, 
from  horse  feed  to  automobile  sundries. 

One  of  her  early  spasms  was  Fletcherism; 
then  she  struck  the  nuts-and-berries  idea.  I 
was  a  guest  at  her  home  the  summer  she  tried 


io  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

both  of  these  things  out.  If  you  are  going  to 
Fletcherize,  a  piece  of  old  boot  tastes  just  as 
good  as  a  steak  and  it  is  more  economical. 
The  adherents  of  the  nuts-and-berries  diet 
claim  that  it  is  a  good  food  schedule  because 
grizzly  bears  live  on  it.  As  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, being  like  a  grizzly  bear  is  a  doubtful 
advantage,  and  besides,  I  don't  believe  it  is 
possible  for  a  bear  to  shell  enough  peanuts  to 
live  on. 

You  have  to  admit  that  the  picture  of  a  griz- 
zly bear  weighing  about  half  a  ton,  sitting  back 
on  his  haunches  delicately  nibbling  at  a  goose- 
berry or  a  filbert  is  a  foolish  spectacle.  It's 
like  playing  an  exhibition  game  of  chess  in  the 
Hippodrome.  If  I  ever  have  any  leisure  time, 
I'm  going  to  educate  one  grizzly  bear  to  eat 
nourishing  food.  Can  you  imagine  the  grati- 
tude of  a  beast  that  has  been  going  through  life 
on  a  diet  of  peanuts  fed  to  him  by  small  boys 
through  the  bars  of  his  cage,  when  for  the  first 
time  he  gets  his  teeth  into  a  roast  turkey  with 
cranberry  sauce  and  pumpkin  pie  on  the  side. 
For  the  rest  of  his  life  that  bear  is  going  to  be 
for  me  strong. 


FAST  ASHORE  n 

Lucile  called  a  meeting  to  discuss  ways  and 


means. 

M 


First  of  all,"  she  said,  "when  the  supply 
boat  comes  today  we'll  make  them  take  back 
every  edible  thing  they  have  brought,  together 
with  what  we  have  on  hand,  so  that  we  won't 
be  tempted.  Isn't  it  lucky  our  cottage  is  on 
an  island  all  by  itself  so  that  it  won't  be  possi- 
ble for  one  of  us  to  cheat  by  going  to  a  hotel 
somewhere." 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  greater  vic- 
tory for  us  if  we  conquered  the  demon  food 
with  some  supplies  within  easy  reach?"  I  sug- 
gested, with  a  painful  recollection  of  that  sup- 
ply boat  which  came  only  twice  a  week  but 
carried  delicacies  of  which  Lucullus  never 
dreamed. 

"No,  it's  best  to  take  no  chances." 

"There's  the  motor  boat  anyway.  We  could 
run  over  to  the  mainland." 

"No,  we  couldn't."  Lucile  smiled.  "Fa- 
ther is  the  only  one  who  can  run  it  and  he  won't 
be  here  until  Sunday." 

Thus  another  ray  of  sunlight  flickered  out. 
A  man  of  my  build  does  not  crank  up  a  marine 


12  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

engine  located  near  the  floor  of  a  boat.  I 
might  say  he  could  not,  but  it  is  truer  to  say 
that  he  does  not;  if  he  is  the  least  bit  wise  he 
does  not  even  try  it. 

"I'll  give  the  maid  a  week  off,"  Lucile  con- 
tinued gaily.  "As  we're  not  going  to  eat  any- 
thing we  shall  not  really  need  her  and  she  has 
been  wanting  to  go  home  for  some  time.  I'll 
let  her  go  back  with  the  supply  boat.  We'll 
begin  our  fasting  tomorrow  by  going  without 
breakfast." 

She  consulted  the  magazine  again.  "We 
have  to  drink  plenty  of  good,  pure  water  and 
think  high  thoughts  all  the  time  and  we'll 
hardly  notice  the  absence  of  food  at  all.  Then 
next  Monday  we'll  break  our  fast  by  drinking 
the  juice  of  an  orange  and  eating  a  handful  of 
popcorn,  just  one  handful  so  as  not  to  shock 
our  digestive  apparatus  by  introducing  any- 
thing solid  into  it." 

But  why  harrow  the  reader  with  the  rules 
and  regulations  which  Lucile  framed  for  us. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  went  into  effect  the 
next  morning  according  to  schedule. 

We  met  at  breakfast.     I  am  never  at  my 


FAST  ASHORE  13 

best  before  I  drink  my  first  cup  of  coffee  in  the 
morning  and  the  thought  of  the  inhuman  way 
I  was  about  to  treat  my  "tummie"  depressed 
me  more  than  usual.  The  table  was  ghastly 
white,  unbroken  by  the  usual  cheerful  array 
of  steaming  hot  dishes.  At  each  place  was  a 
large  glass  of  water  and  a  napkin.  What  the 
napkin  was  for  I  failed  to  discover.  I  imagine 
it  was  what  the  anthropologists  would  call  "a 
survival  of  culture." 

"We  have  fifty-eight  five-gallon  bottles  of 
distilled  water,"  Lucile  informed  us.  "I  won- 
der if  that  will  be  enough.  It  amounts  to 
nearly  one  hundred  gallons  apiece." 

I  made  a  hasty  mental  calculation  and  de- 
cided that  a  hundred  gallons  of  drinking  water 
would  last  me  the  rest  of  my  life. 

Mrs.  Green,  Lucile's  mother,  was  patiently 
cheerful  and  drank  three  glasses  of  water  like 
a  sponge.  I  didn't  care  much  for  mine.  I  had 
previously  had  no  idea  that  water  was  so  flat 
and  tasteless.  It  is  also  an  extraordinarily 
elusive  and  clammy  thing  to  put  into  an  empty 
stomach  which  is  eagerly  expecting  bacon  and 
eggs,  muffins  and  coffee. 


14  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"I  feel  better  already,"  Lucile  said  gaily,  as 
we  left  the  table.  "My  mind  is  clear — I  have 
wasted  none  of  my  vital  energy  in  merely  di- 
gesting food." 

I  knew  that  she  was  quoting  Lipton  S.  Clair, 
whom  I  was  beginning  to  regard  with  disfa- 
vor, to  say  the  least,  but  I  refrained  from  voic- 
ing my  opinion  of  a  man  who  will  help  women 
to  get  even  more  fool  ideas  than  they  can  think 
up  by  themselves. 

I  took  a  cigar  from  my  pocket,  cut  the  tip 
end  off  carefully  with  a  silver  cutter  Lucile 
had  given  me  the  previous  Christmas  and  was 
about  to  light  it  when  she  stopped  me. 

"No — no — no,  you  mustn't.  Did  I  forget 
to  tell  you  that  while  we  are  fasting  we  have 
to  give  up  all  stimulants  and  narcotics  such  as 
alcohol  and  tobacco?" 

"What?    Cut  out  smoking  for  a  week?" 

"Certainly,"  she  replied  firmly.  "In  the 
first  place,  if  you  don't  you  will  be  deathly  ill. 
In  the  second  place,  the  whole  object  of  the  fast 
is  to  rid  the  body  of  all  toxic  poisons,  such  as 
nicotine,  alcohol  and  so  forth.  By  the  time 
you  have  done  without  tobacco  for  a  week  I 


FAST  ASHORE  15 

should  not  be  surprised  if  you  never  smoked 
again." 

"Nor  me  either/'  I  reflected  gloomily,  out 
loud.  "I'll  be  dead." 

"Of  course,  if  you  don't  care  to  make  the  ex- 
periment," Lucile  said  icily,  "I'll  put  off  the 
fasting  for  another  week  until  Frank  Bopp  is 
here.  I'm  sure  he  will  be  willing  to  try  it." 

This  was  waving  a  red  rag  at  me.  Frank 
Bopp  was  my  rival.  After  her  reference  to 
him  I  would  have  gone  without  breathing  for 
a  week  if  she  had  suggested  it.  Bopp  is  a 
thin,  conversational  insect  who  can  perch  on  the 
arm  of  a  girl's  chair  and  chirp  by  the  hour. 
Sometimes  I  regret  that  for  architectural  and 
educational  reasons  I  can't  do  that,  and  then  I 
remember  what  other  men  would  think  of  me 
if  I  could  and  I  am  solaced.  I  refrain  from 
saying  what  I  think  of  the  name  "Bopp." 

Thus  through  my  love  and  jealousy  I  was  led 
into  deeper  water,  or  shall  I  say  more  water, 
because  somebody  handed  me  a  glass  of  the 
stuff  every  few  minutes.  I  drank  it  in  the 
vain  hope  that  I  could  drown  the  inner  man 
who  seemed  to  be  yelling  for  help  all  the  time 


16  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

and  kicking  me  just  below  the  belt  buckle  when 
he  didn't  get  it. 

That  morning  we  went  for  a  walk. 

"Walking  is  the  best  exercise  in  the  world," 
Lucile  stated.  "It  is  excellent  for  reducing 
surplus  flesh  around  the  abdominal  region." 

Invariably  she  had  a  little  stinger  for  me 
concealed  in  any  remark  she  might  make.  I 
have  since  learned  that  this  is  a  sign  that  a 
woman  takes  a  proprietary  interest  in  a  man. 

Before  we  went  she  fed  Tootles,  her  long- 
haired pup.  Tootles  is  one  of  those  dogs  so 
constructed  by  nature  that  when  you  want  to 
look  her  in  the  face  you  don't  know  where  to 
look.  I  often  wonder  if  Tootles  herself  isn't 
in  doubt  as  to  which  end  to  wag. 

"Isn't  Tootles  going  to  fast  too?"  I  pro- 
tested. "Can't  she  stand  it  as  well  as  I  can?" 

"Possibly  she  could  do  it,"  Lucile  said  as  she 
gave  her  a  dog  biscuit,  "but  she  hasn't  intelli- 
gence enough  to  understand  why  she  should  go 
without  food." 

"I'm  not  far  above  Tootles  in  intelligence 
then,"  I  remarked,  but  under  my  breath  this 
time,  so  she  could  not  hear. 


FAST  ASHORE  17 

After  watching  Tootles  eat  we  went  walk- 
ing. Whenever  I  go  walking  in  the  city  I  hire 
a  taxicab.  If  I  want  to  see  nature  in  all  her 
grandeur,  do  I  go  tramping  through  the  woods  ? 
I  do  not.  I  buy  a  seat  at  a  moving  picture 
show  where  they  are  running  a  western  out- 
law film.  "Nature  for  a  nickel"  is  my  motto. 
Fatigue  is  eliminated  and  the  sum  total  of 
knowledge  is  advanced  several  thousand  feet. 

After  we  had  covered  several  miles,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  I  suggested  that  we  had  better 
not  get  much  farther  away  from  home. 

"Why  not?"  Lucile  queried. 

"We  might  not  get  back  in  time  for  lunch." 

"I  brought  our  lunch,"  she  said,  and  pro- 
duced a  flask  of  water. 

I  groaned.  I  had  nearly  forgotten  that 
there  was  to  be  no  lunch.  It's  curious  how 
much  you  depend  on  meals  to  break  up  the  day. 
All  the  morning  long  you  keep  thinking,  "I 
must  get  so  much  done  before  lunch,"  and  then 
in  the  afternoon  you  spur  yourself  on  to  an 
extra  effort  with  the  thought  of  a  better  dinner 
than  usual  when  you  get  through.  Take  these 
meal  landmarks  out  of  your  day  and  what  is 


i8  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

left?  Nothing  but  a  dreary,  dead  level  desert 
of  time,  a  day  whose  limits  seem  interminable. 

"How  many  days  is  it  until  we  eat  again?" 
I  asked  hopelessly. 

"Six  and  a  half,"  Lucile  computed.  "Then 
we  get  some  orange  juice  and  a  few  kernels  of 
popcorn." 

"Then  what?" 

'That's  all  for  the  first  day." 

A  few  kernels  of  popcorn !  Can  you  imag- 
ine a  kernel  of  popcorn  floating  hither  and  yon 
in  all  that  sea  of  water  and  finally  giving  up 
with  a  despairing  shriek  when  it  finds  there  is 
no  place  to  land? 

"You  mustn't  think  of  things  to  eat;  you're 
not  really  hungry— it  is  your  imagination. 
Tighten  your  belt  and  you  won't  know  that 
you  haven't  eaten." 

I  followed  her  advice.  True  enough,  the 
belt  was  quite  loose.  A  terrible  thought 
struck  me — a  few  days  of  fasting  and  I  would 
have  to  wear  suspenders !  I  had  always  prided 
myself  on  a  self-supporting  figure,  as  it  were, 
and  had  jeered  at  the  fence-rail  build  which  is 
obliged  to  hang  all  its  garments  from  its  shoul- 


FAST  ASHORE  19 

ders.     Already  with  one  meal  missing  I  was 
up  to  the  last  notch  in  my  belt. 

Along  toward  noon  I  noticed  a  distinct  head- 
ache. 

"That  will  pass  away,"  Lucile  assured  me. 
"Lipton  S.  Clair  says  so,  and  he  ought  to 
know." 

"Why  ought  he  to  know  ?"  I  snapped.  "Did 
he  invent  headaches  or  is  he  just  generalizing 
from  reading  about  somebody  else's  headache  ? 
This  pain  I've  got  here  has  settled  in  my  region 
of  thought  for  a  long  run,  and  I  defy  any  Lip- 
ton  S.  Clair  to  drive  it  out." 

"Don't  be  cross,"  Lucile  soothed.  "Let  me 
dip  my  handkerchief  in  this  spring  here  and 
wet  your  forehead  with  it." 

She  did,  and  while  it  didn't  do  any  good,  I 
always  like  to  have  her  fussing  around  me. 

The  spring  is  one  that  everyone  visits  who 
comes  to  the  island,  and  there  is  a  tin  cup  sit- 
ting on  a  rock  nearby.  I  started  to  get  a  drink. 

"You  mustn't  drink  that  water."  Lucile 
stopped  me.  "You  must  not  drink  anything 
but  distilled  water  while  you  are  fasting." 

"Why  not?" 


20  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Because  when  there  is  nothing  else  in  it  the 
stomach    is    particularly    susceptible    to    dis- 


ease." 


That  was  more  of  L.  S.  Clair's  magazine 
stuff.  I  knew  it.  Probably  he  got  about  five 
cents  a  word  for  it,  too. 

"That  water,  pure  as  it  is,  may  have  mi- 
crobes in  it,"  she  continued. 

"What  chance  would  a  microbe  have  against 
my  stomach?"  I  returned  bitterly,  but  I  re- 
frained from  drinking  the  water.  In  those 
days  that  woman  had  me  under  her  thumb. 

At  nightfall  we  sat  around  that  white  table 
once  more.  I  think  even  Lucile's  enthusiasm 
was  wavering.  It  seemed  distinctly  more  of 
an  effort  to  be  cheerful  than  it  had  at  break- 
fast. Her  mother  was  frankly  miserable  and 
eyed  me  with  a  glance  which  warned  me  that 
were  we  cannibals  the  laws  of  hospitality  would 
hardly  protect  one  of  my  build. 

"Have  some  water,  Mr.  Blainey,"  Lucile 
said. 

"I  won't  drink  another  drop  tonight,"  I  de- 
clared, "unless  I  can  have  some  flavoring  ex- 
tract in  it." 


FAST  ASHORE  21 

After  that  we  sat  around  thinking  about 
sweet  potatoes  and  hash  and  steaks,  but  talk- 
ing about  the  latest  books  and  the  moonlight 
through  the  trees.  But  what  is  moonlight  on 
an  empty  stomach  ?  Merely  moonlight — noth- 
ing more.  It  is  curious  how  fasting  exagger- 
ates the  ego  of  the  digestive  apparatus.  It  be- 
comes more  important  than  any  other  part  of 
the  body.  It  demands  attention  and  gets  it. 
For  instance,  if  Congress  should  start  fasting 
the  affairs  of  the  nation  would  come  to  a  stand- 
still. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Lucile,  straining 
her  ears  to  catch  some  sound  out  on  the  water. 

We  all  listened.  There  was  a  faint  "put — 
put"  out  there  somewhere. 

"It's  Johnson's  launch,"  said  Mrs.  Green. 
"I  can  tell  because  it  misses  every  tenth  ex- 
plosion." 

"Lipton  S.  Clair  says  that  fasting  makes  all 
the  senses  extraordinarily  acute,"  Lucile  ex- 
plained. 

I  know  Mrs.  Green  said,  "Damn  Lipton  S. 
Clair !"  under  her  breath,  but  I  did  not  hear  it. 

"I  wonder  what  Johnson's  boat  can  be  doing 


22  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

out  here  at  this  time  of  night,"  Lucile  specu- 
lated. 

"He  must  be  bringing  someone  over  here," 
said  her  mother.  "Ours  is  the  only  island  for 
miles  which  is  inhabited  as  late  as  this  in  the 
season,  and  he  certainly  isn't  out  for  a  pleasure 
trip." 

"It  can't  be  father,"  Lucile  mused.  "He 
said  he  wouldn't  be  home  until  Sunday." 

So  we  went  down  to  the  dock.  It  was  moon- 
light and  the  old  launch  coming  in  looked  some 
way  romantic.  What  was  she  bringing  us? 
Something  within  me  suggested  food,  but  the 
suggestion  echoed  hollowly  through  vast  spaces 
otherwise  unbroken  by  any  sound  save  the  lap- 
ping of  water. 

The  launch  came  alongside,  a  man  with  a 
couple  of  grips  jumped  ashore,  then  the  boat 
backed  away  and  limped  off  again  into  the  dark- 


ness. 

u 


Why,  Frank  Bopp!"  exclaimed  Lucile, 
greeting  the  newcomer.  "We  weren't  expect- 
ing you  until  next  week." 

"I  know  it,"  he  said,  "but  I  got  two  weeks' 
vacation  instead  of  one,  and  I  thought  I'd  be 


FAST  ASHORE  23 

welcome,  so  I  grabbed  the  first  train  and  here 
I  am." 

"Of  course  you  are  welcome."  Lucile  was 
wondering  how  she  was  going  to  break  the 
news  of  the  fasting  to  him. 

"How  are  you,  Monty  ?"  He  hailed  me  with 
the  nickname  I  most  detest  and  slapped  me  on 
the  shoulder-blade  where  the  sunburn  was  the 
worst. 

I  assured  him  politely,  but  untruthfully,  that 
I  had  never  felt  better. 

Then  we  went  back  to  the  house.  All  I  had 
needed  was  the  presence  of  this  mosquito  to  be 
absolutely  miserable.  He  knew  more  different 
ways  of  getting  on  my  nerves,  even  when  I  was 
well  fed,  than  any  other  individual  in  the  world. 
I  hated  to  think  what  the  next  few  days  would 
be  like  with  Bopp  and  hunger  for  my  compan- 
ions. 

Just  at  that  time  he  was  smoking  a  cigar. 
I'll  bet  it  really  was  a  poor  one,  but  to  me  it  pos- 
sessed an  aroma  for  which  I  would  cheerfully 
have  strangled  him.  I  carefully  stood  to  lee- 
ward of  him  so  that  the  smoke  would  blow  my 
way. 


24  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Believe  me,"  Bopp  was  saying,  "I  had  some 
dinner  on  the  dining  car  this  evening.  There 
was  some  fried  chicken  with  biscuit  and  gravy, 
mashed  potatoes,  corn  on  the  cob — " 

"Isn't  the  moon  beautiful?"  interrupted 
Lucile.  Even  she  could  stand  no  more. 

"Looks  like  a  great  big  pumpkin,  doesn't  it?" 
Bopp  blundered. 

I  am  going  to  put  a  new  verb  in  the  diction- 
ary, namely:  "to  Bopp,"  meaning  to  speak  at 
length  on  any  annoying  subject. 

Finally  Lucile  took  him  one  side  and  ex- 
plained about  the  fasting.  The  idea  fascinated 
him,  especially  in  its  application  to  me.  He 
offered  to  wager  me  huge  sums  of  money  which 
neither  of  us  possessed,  that  I  couldn't  last  for 
a  week,  and  if  I  did  he  wanted  to  open  a  pool  on 
my  probable  weight  and  waist  measurement  at 
the  finish.  You  can  imagine  how  much  his  talk 
amused  me. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  house  Lucile  passed 
everyone  a  glass  of  water.  Bopp,  with  mock 
alarm,  would  not  let  me  drink  mine. 

"Wait  till  I  get  a  tire-gauge,"  he  said,  "and 


FAST  ASHORE  25 

see  if  Monty  can  stand  another  glass  without 
bursting  an  inner  tube." 

"Don't  be  funny,"  interposed  Lucile. 
"About  tomorrow  you'll  feel  the  way  Mr. 
Blainey  does  now." 

"Why?" 

"Anyone  does  after  fasting  the  first  day." 

"Me?  Fast?"  Bopp  laughed  a  clear  ring- 
ing laugh.  "No,  thank  you.  I  don't  go  in  for 
those  fads.  I  think  I  can  have  more  fun 
watching  Monty  do  a  gradual  disappearing 
act." 

Lucile  didn't  tell  him  then  that  there  was  no 
food  in  the  house,  and  I  joyfully  refrained,  for 
fear  of  spoiling  one  little  jot  of  the  pleasure  I 
would  have  in  watching  him  when  he  discov- 
ered it  for  himself  the  next  morning  at  break- 
fast. 

"I'm  going  to  bed,"  I  announced  stiffly. 

"Are  you  sleepy  so  soon?"  asked  Lucile, 
kindly. 

"Not  sleepy,  but  very  tired,"  said  I,  looking 
pointedly  at  Bopp.  "I  think  I  may  read  a  while 
in  bed." 


26  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

I  started  to  get  a  glass  of -water. 

"Pass  Monty  the  boiler  compound,"  said 
Bopp.  "He's  getting  full  of  lime." 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Blainey,"  said  Lucile 
sweetly,  to  make  up  for  the  boor's  rudeness. 

I  held  her  hand  for  an  instant.  "Good 
night,  Miss  Green."  Then  as  I  turned  to  go 
up  the  stairs  I  mumbled,  "Good  night,  Bopp." 

"Good  night,  Monty,"  he  returned.  "Gee, 
for  your  sake  I  hope  we  don't  have  a  frost  to- 
night or  you  are  apt  to  burst." 

I  went  upstairs  and  slammed  my  bedroom 
door.  At  last  I  could  be  alone  with  my  misery. 
After  I  got  into  bed  I  tried  lying  on  my  back, 
on  my  side  and  on  my  stomach.  It  was  no  use : 
I  could  not  sleep. 

At  last  I  heard  the  others  coming  upstairs 
to  bed.  I  wondered  if  he  had  kissed  her  good 
night  in  the  hall. 

Someone  knocked  at  my  door. 

I  growled,  "Come  in." 

Bopp  stuck  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

"Excuse  me,  Monty,"  he  said,  "I  saw  a  light 
under  your  door  and  thinking  you  might  be 
awake  I  brought  you  a  book  to  read." 


FAST  ASHORE  27 

He  tossed  a  volume  on  my  bed. 

"Thanks,"  I  murmured. 

He  withdrew  and  shut  the  door. 

I  wondered  if  I  had  misjudged  the  man.  It 
certainly  was  decent  of  him  to  bring  me  a  book. 
I  picked  up  the  volume,  read  the  title  and  threw 
it  at  the  door  he  had  just  closed. 

It  was  "The  White  House  Cook  Book"! 


CHAPTER  TWO 
MAROONED 


CHAPTER  TWO 

IN  an  seon  or  two  it  was  daylight  once  more 
and  I  dressed  my  emaciated  figure  with  care, 
inserting  a  precautionary  safety  pin  hither  and 
yon  in  the  folds  which  were  once  the  waist  line 
of  my  garments.  I  took  a  melancholy  pleasure 
in  surveying  the  ravages  which  want  and  sleep- 
lessness had  wrought  in  my  one  time  plenitude. 

Early  as  I  had  risen,  Lucile  was  downstairs 
almost  as  soon  as  I  was.  She  wanted  to  get  all 
the  benefits  of  a  glorious  long  day,  she  ex- 
plained. Tacitly  we  avoided  the  subject  of 
breakfast,  and  neither  of  us  made  any  move  to 
sit  down  at  the  dining-room  table  to  fill  up  on 
water.  We  had  our  tipple  standing  and  at 
separate  times.  When  man  feeds  silently  and 
alone  he  is  approaching  a  state  of  savagery. 

"Shall  we  waken  Mr.  Bopp?"  I  asked.  "I 
should  hate  to  have  him  miss  any  of  this  glori- 
ous day." 

.  "No,"  vetoed  Lucile,  who  suspected  my  mo- 

31 


32  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

tive.  "The  beauty  of  fasting  is  that  it  relieves 
one  from  all  the  restraint  of  convention.  We 
are  not  tied  down  to  meals,  to  regular  rising 
and  retiring.  Everyone  may  consult  his  own 
convenience  in  the  matter.  You  choose  to 
arise  and  glory  in  nature,  he  prefers  to  dream." 

I  surmised  that  Lucile  was  guying  me,  but  I 
let  it  go  at  that  because  I  didn't  want  to  quarrel 
with  her.  Not  while  Bopp  was  in  the  house. 
I  wanted  to  save  up  all  my  fighting  temper  for 
him. 

After  I  had  revelled  in  the  glories  of  nature 
for  a  while  the  entertainment  palled  on  me  and 
I  picked  up  Sunday's  newspaper.  It's  curious 
how  much  space  is  given  in  our  press  to  the 
discussion  of  food.  I  opened  the  sheet  to  the 
market  report  and  turned  that  page  over  in  dis- 
gust only  to  run  into  an  article  labelled  "Menus 
for  the  Week." 

There  were  sounds  of  someone  stirring  up- 
stairs. 

"Frank  is  up,"  announced  Lucile  with  relief. 
I  think  she  knew  there  was  a  storm  coming  and 
was  glad  to  get  the  suspense  over  with. 

Bopp  sang  as  he  dressed.     I  never  care  for  a 


MAROONED  33 

person  who  is  cheerful  before  breakfast.  It 
always  seems  to  me  as  if  they  put  it  on  to  irri- 
tate others.  The  melody  which  Bopp  dressed 
himself  by  was  "Drink  to  Me  Only  with  Thine 
Eyes,"  and  then  as  an  encore  he  favored  him- 
self with  'The  Old  Oaken  Bucket,"  and  "Su- 
wanee  River."  After  that  he  was  entitled  to 
all  that  was  coming  to  him. 

He  came  downstairs  smiling  and  asked  pleas- 
antly, "Have  you  been  out  to  pump  your  break- 
fast yet,  Monty?" 

When  he  noticed  that  Lucile  was  in  the  room 
he  made  no  further  allusions  to  eating  or  water. 
After  a  few  moments  of  desultory  conversation 
he  went  out  into  the  kitchen.  When  he  re- 
turned his  face  wore  a  puzzled  expression. 

"Do  you  know  where  the  maid  is?"  he  en- 
quired. "I  thought  I'd  ask  her  to  make  me  a 
cup  of  coffee." 

"The  maid  is  taking  a  vacation,"  I  answered 
hastily,  for  fear  Lucile  would  rob  me  of  the 
pleasure  of  telling  him.  "She  won't  be  back 
for  a  week." 

"Oh."  He  received  the  blow  with  open 
mouth.  After  a  moment  he  recovered.  "You 


34  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

won't  mind,  will  you,  Lucile,  if  I  get  myself  a 
bite?" 

"I  wouldn't  mind  in  the  least,"  she  answered, 
"but  there  isn't  a  thing  to  eat  in  the  house." 

"Nothing  to  eat?" 

"No.  That's  so  we  wouldn't  be  tempted  to 
break  our  fast." 

I  sauntered  casually  over  to  the  piano  and 
with  one  finger  picked  out  "I'm  on  the  Water 
Wagon  Now."  Bopp  was  too  stunned  to  no- 
tice it  much. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  yelled,  with  all  the 
rage  of  a  regular  man  deprived  of  his  break- 
fast. 

"Why,  you'll  have  to  fast,  too,"  said  Lucile 
placidly.  "It  will  make  you  feel  better  and  will 
put  flesh  on  your  frame." 

"But  you  said  that  it  would  make  me  thin," 
I  interrupted. 

"It  works  both  ways,"  supplied  Lucile. 

"Me  fast?"  snorted  Bopp.  "I  guess  not. 
Not  while  I'm  within  two  miles  of  the  main- 
land. Is  the  motor  boat  in  running  order  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  guess  it  is,"  Lucile  replied 
doubtfully.  It  is  always  well  to  be  doubtful 


MAROONED  35 

about  a  motor  boat.  "But  there  is  no  one  here 
who  can  run  it." 

"Huh,"  grunted  Bopp  unpleasantly,  "I  guess 
I  can  run  it.  I  don't  like  to  talk  about  myself 
but  I  have  yet  to  meet  the  gasoline  engine  that 
does  not  cower  at  my  approach.  If  there's  a 
spark  and  if  there's  any  juice  in  the  gasoline 
tank,  she's  got  to  go." 

Curiously  enough  I've  heard  that  same  state- 
ment made  many  times  before  by  a  person  about 
to  attack  a  gasoline  engine.  And  fifty  per  cent, 
of  those  times  the  motor  has  not  had  to  go. 
We  all  went  down  to  see  him  off  and  sat  on  the 
dock  until  he  got  everything  ready;  all  of  us, 
that  is,  except  Mrs.  Green,  who  complained  of 
a  headache,  poor  old  lady,  and  decided  to  stay 
in  bed. 

I  did  not  help  Bopp  on  his  way  much,  as  I 
should  have  liked  to,  because  I  know  my  limita- 
tions when  it  comes  to  motor  boats.  Now 
with  an  automobile  I  am  right  at  home.  When 
a  car  refuses  to  do  what  the  advertisements 
claim  for  it  all  you  need  to  do  is  to  get  out  the 
tool  kit,  jack  up  one  of  the  axles  and  telephone 
the  nearest  garage.  Sometimes  it  isn't  even 


36  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

necessary  to  use  the  jack,  but  it  looks  more  pro- 
fessional and  impresses  your  passengers  with 
your  mechanical  skill.  With  launches  the  per- 
sonal equation  enters  more  considerably,  espe- 
cially if  the  difficulty  occurs  in  the  middle  of  a 
large,  restless  lake.  There  is  a  peculiar  wal- 
lowing motion  about  a  motor  boat  which  has 
ceased  to  mote  in  among  a  lot  of  unsettled 
waves.  This  motion  makes  me  unable  to  dis- 
tinguish an  S  wrench  from  a  bilge  pump  with 
any  degree  of  certainty  and  also  causes  me  to 
care  very  little  about  life  and  other  trivial  mat- 
ters. 

Bopp  looked  the  engine  over  and  sniffed. 
"Looks  like  it  was  built  by  a  one-armed  plumb- 
er's assistant  with  the  St.  Vitus'  dance.  How- 
ever, it's  very  simple.  A  child  could  under- 
stand this." 

He  pulled  a  few  levers,  set  the  steering  wheel 
just  so,  and  started  to  get  down  to  crank  it. 
Then  he  straightened  up  again. 

"Monty,"  he  commanded,  "loosen  that  line 
there,  and  when  the  engine  starts,  throw  it 
aboard  so  I  won't  have  to  leave  the  steering 
wheel." 


MAROONED  37 

I  did  as  he  asked. 

He  turned  the  fly  wheel  over  painfully. 
There  was  a  sort  of  wheezing  sound,  but  noth- 
ing resembling  the  regular  explosion  of  a  ma- 
rine motor  in  the  flush  of  perfect  health,  feeling 
its  oats. 

"The  engine  is  cold,"  he  announced  briefly, 
and  bent  his  back  to  greater  efforts. 

"The  principle  of  the  gasoline  engine,"  I  lec- 
tured glibly  to  Lucile,  "is  easily  comprehensible 
to  the  intellect  of  a  boy  of  ten.  It  consists  sim- 
ply of  mixing  gasoline  in  the  thing-a-ma-jig 
which  is  drawn  into  a  what-d'-you-call-it  in 
the  engine,  and  then  when  an  electric  spark  is 
applied  from  the  ding-bat  there  is  an  explosion. 
See — he  turns  the  wheel  over — this  draws  the 
charge  of  gas  into  the  engine — now  the  ec- 
centric trips  the  sparking  device — now  listen 
intently  for  the  explosion.  You  can't  hear  it 
because  there  is  a  very  good  muffler  on  the 
boat." 

Bopp  expressed  what  he  thought  of  me  by 
hitting  the  engine  a  smart  rap  with  the  monkey 
wrench. 

"What's    the    matter?"    enquired    Lucile 


38  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

sweetly,  wishing  to  smooth  matters  over. 
"Won't  the  engine  run?" 

That  is  always  the  prize  question  to  ask  the 
operator  of  a  gasoline  engine.  Next  time  you 
see  an  auto  stalled  beside  the  road,  with  the 
driver  dripping  perspiration  and  tearing  his 
heart  out  at  the  crank,  ask  him  that,  and  you 
will  hear  him  pour  out  his  innermost  soul  in 
words  of  one  syllable. 

Bopp  seemed  disinclined  to  answer,  so  I  did 
it  for  him.  "You  see,  he  could  make  the  en- 
gine go,  any  child  could,  but  he  wants  to  get  it 
all  warmed  up  before  he  starts  it.  It  is  really 
kindness  on  his  part.  No  humane  man  would 
want  to  make  a  poor,  cold,  gasoline  engine  run 
fast  right  at  first.  See !  Mr.  Bopp  is  going  to 
hold  it  in  his  lap  until  it  gets  warm." 

"Oh,  dry  up !"  snapped  Bopp  impolitely. 

"That's  impossible,"  I  retorted.  "The  earth 
itself  is  over  two-thirds  water  and  I  stack  up 
considerably  higher  than  that." 

Bopp  now  had  a  smudge  of  dark  grease  on 
his  light  trousers,  had  worn  a  blister  on  the 
palm  of  his  hand  and  had  used  up  a  collar  com- 
pletely. Manipulating  a  gasoline  engine  with- 


MAROONED  39 

out  cuss  words,  scientifically  speaking,  gener- 
ates poison  in  the  inner  being  of  man,  a  noxious 
distilled  profanity,  and  Bopp  had  some  fer- 
menting inside  of  him  that  would  have  killed 
a  rabbit  instantly.  He  opened  a  valve  on  top 
of  the  engine,  sniffed  suspiciously,  and  looked 
wise. 

"It's  flooded,"  he  remarked,  with  an  air  of 
finality. 

"I  can  sympathize  with  it,"  I  said,  feelingly. 

After  rummaging  around  in  the  locker  for  a 
while  he  got  out  a  collection  of  tools  and  began 
to  remove  a  steel  plate  from  the  side  of  the 
engine. 

"In  order  to  make  it  easier  to  understand  the 
inner  workings  of  the  engine,"  I  explained  to 
Lucile,  "he  is  going  to  take  it  apart  so  that  you 
may  see  each  piece  distinctly.  I  wonder  if  he 
knows  that  he  spilled  some  cylinder  oil  in  that 
place  where  he  is  now  sitting.  No  matter. 
To  resume  our  lecture,  that  thin  piece  of  tubing 
covered  with  black  grease  is  the  crank-shaft. 
No — I  am  mistaken.  That  is  the  man's  leg. 
The  crank-shaft  is  that  other  thing  not  quite  so 
thin  and  shapeless.  Move  your  leg  a  little,  will 


40  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

you,  Bopp,  so  that  Lucile  can  tell  which  is  the 
crank-shaft?'' 

There  was  no  reply  save  a  growl  of  rage 
from  below,  where  the  young  man  was  stand- 
ing on  his  head  peering  into  the  gizzard  of  the 
machine. 

"Don't  forget  to  tell  me  when  to  let  go  of 
the  rope,"  I  reminded  him. 

Lucile  suddenly  scrambled  down  into  the 
launch. 

"Oh,  Frank,"  she  exclaimed,  "would  it  make 
any  difference  if  this  wire  were  fastened  to 
something?" 

He  arose  from  his  imitation  of  a  kangaroo 
about  to  jump  down  a  mine  shaft,  and  took  the 
wire  from  her  fingers  without  comment.  His 
feelings,  whatever  they  were,  he  did  not  dare 
trust  to  speech.  There  was  something  majes- 
tic about  the  repression  of  the  man  that  for- 
bade comment.  In  palpitating  silence  he  at- 
tached the  wire  to  a  place  which  seemed  to  be 
made  for  it,  reassembled  the  engine,  wiped  off 
his  hands  and  grasped  the  crank.  He  turned 
it  once  easily,  and  "zing" — the  motor  got  down 
to  business  like  a  clock. 


'Oh,  Frank,"  she  exclaimed,  "would  it   make   any  difference 
if  this  wire  were  fastened  to  something?" 


MAROONED  41 

Lucile  hastily  scrambled  out  of  the  boat. 

"Let  her  go,"  Bopp  yelled,  taking  hold  of  the 
wheel  in  a  pose  a  good  deal  like  a  Viking  save 
for  the  grease  on  his  trousers.  (Did  Vikings 
wear  trousers?  My  memory  is  at  fault.) 

I  threw  the  line  on  board  with  a  feeling  of 
envy  for  one  who  was  speeding  to  a  square 
meal. 

"Keep  to  starboard!"  Lucile  yelled.  "Keep 
to  starboard!  There's  shallow  water  on  the 
port  side!" 

Bopp  spun  the  wheel  and  the  launch  turned 
abruptly  to  the  left. 

"The  other  way,"  screamed  Lucile.  "Star- 
board is  on  your  right  side !" 

She  was  too  late.  The  boat  stopped  sud- 
denly. Bopp  hastily  took  an  impression  of  the 
steering  wheel  on  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  the 
engine  threshed  wildly  for  a  few  moments  and 
finally  expired  with  a  snort. 

I  yelled  to  Bopp,  "Do  you  want  any  help?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  bowing  to  me  unintention- 
ally from  pain,  holding  one  hand  on  his  belt 
line  where  the  wheel  had  struck  him.  "I'll 
start  the  engine  and  pull  her  off  in  a  jiffy." 


42  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

To  Lucile  I  explained  in  as  loud  a  tone  of 
voice  as  I  could  command,  "It  is  a  curious  thing 
about  many  deep  water  sailors  that  they  cannot 
tell  their  left  and  right  hands  apart.  Say 
'port'  or  'starboard'  to  them  and  they  get  you 
at  once." 

Bopp  managed  to  make  the  engine  run  again 
and  started  to  back  off  from  the  bar  when  the 
propeller  wheel  struck  something  and  proceed- 
ings ended  then  and  there. 

That  was  the  absolute  finish  of  the  perform- 
ance for  that  day.  There  was  no  encore.  He 
couldn't  turn  the  engine  over  again  even  by 
hand,  and  a  little  investigation  disclosed  the 
fact  that  the  propeller  shaft  was  hopelessly  tan- 
gled in  some  heavy  wire  which  the  propeller 
had  picked  up  out  of  the  sand.  Bopp  discov- 
ered all  this  by  sticking  his  head  under  water 
over  the  side  of  the  boat. 

"You  might  as  well  come  ashore  now,"  sug- 
gested Lucile.  "We'll  have  to  get  a  mechanic 
over  from  town  next  week  to  fix  the  boat." 

So  Bopp  came  ashore,  by  wading  in  rather 
chilly  water  up  to  his  waist.  Considerable  of 
the  bloom  was  rubbed  from  his  usual  natty  ap- 


MAROONED  43 

pearance  when  he  clambered  on  the  dock,  be- 
smudged  and  dripping. 

"Welcome  to  the  Pasters'  Club,"  I  greeted 
him.  "I  would  baptize  thee  as  a  brother  in 
the  Aqua  Pura  Fraternity,  but  I  see  there  is 
no  need.  We'll  go  up  to  the  house  and  give 
you  a  nice  drink  of  water  to  warm  you  up  after 
your  chill." 

"Where's  the  telephone?"  demanded  Bopp 
briefly,  ignoring  me. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Lucile. 

He  endeavored  to  be  pleasant  to  Lucile.  "I 
am  going  to  telephone  to  town  to  have  a  boat 
come  over  to  take  me  to  breakfast." 

"In  the  meantime,"  I  requested,  "would  you 
mind  moving  over  here  a  moment  and  drip- 
ping on  these  flowers  which  need  water?" 

Lucile  took  him  to  the  telephone.  I  followed 
at  a  leisurely  pace  and  by  the  time  I  got  to  the 
house  I  found  Bopp  whirling  the  lever  of  the 
telephone  with  exasperated  energy.  It  was 
one  of  those  country  telephones  where  you  have 
to  grind  a  little  business  on  the  side  of  the  box 
until  Central  happens  to  hear  you  swearing  at 
the  transmitter.  The  operator  seemed  more 


44  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

oblivious  than  usual,  and  Bopp  remarked 
"Hello"  in  every  possible  tone  of  voice  from 
wheedling  to  a  threat. 

"I  wonder,"  Lucile  murmured  vaguely,  "if 
maybe  it  wasn't  the  telephone  cable  which  you 
dug  up  with  the  propeller  of  the  launch." 

"What's  that?"  Bopp  demanded. 

"I  said,  'It  must  have  been  the  telephone 
cable  you  got  mixed  up  in  when  you  ran  the 
launch  aground.'  That's  why  it  won't  work." 

Bopp  hurled  the  receiver  into  the  hook  which 
is  designed  to  hold  it. 

"Don't  be  cross,"  she  said  soothingly. 
"Think  pleasant  things.  You've  got  to  stay. 
Make  the  best  of  it." 

"Think  pleasant  things!  I  do!  I  think  of 
ham  and  eggs.  Can  you  suggest  something 
pleasanter?  How  far  is  it  to  the  mainland?" 

"Two  miles." 

"And  I  can  only  swim  a  mile  and  a  half." 

"Why  don't  you  start  anyway  ?"  I  suggested 
helpfully. 

"Hush,"  warned  Lucile.  Then  turning  to 
Bopp,  who  was  headed  for  the  door,  "Where 
are  you  going?" 


MAROONED  45 

"Out  in  the  woods  to  eat  the  leaves  off  the 
trees." 

He  slammed  the  door. 

After  he  had  gone  a  blessed  calm  reigned  for 
a  few  minutes.  All  at  once  Lucile  started. 

"Suppose  he  should  eat  some  poison  ivy!" 
she  exclaimed.  "He's  a  city  bred  man  and  I 
don't  suppose  he  knows  what  it  looks  like. 
Don't  you  think  you  had  better  go  and  show 
him  where  it  is?" 

"Sure,  I'll  be  glad  to  go.  I'll  not  only  show 
him  where  it  is — I'll  feed  it  to  him." 

"No — I'll  go,"  she  said;  "you  two  might 
quarrel." 

Right  there  I  made  my  mistake.  I  let  her  go 
after  him.  So  she  spent  the  day  with  him  in- 
stead of  with  me.  Watching  Bopp's  discom- 
fort had  made  me  forget  my  own,  but  now  that 
I  was  alone  I  became  more  oppressed  than  ever. 
I  got  up  and  sat  down  again.  I  couldn't  get 
comfortable.  There  was  nothing  to  do.  My 
head  did  not  feel  in  a  condition  to  allow  me  to 
fc  read  and  there  was  no  work  to  occupy  me  as 
k  there  would  have  been  at  home. 

While  roaming  about  the  empty  rooms  I 


46  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

heard  a  whine  and  looking  for  its  source  found 
Tootles  in  the  kitchen  trying  to  reach  the  shelf 
where  the  dog  biscuit  were  kept.  In  the  ex- 
citement Lucile  had  forgotten  to  feed  her. 
With  melancholy  pleasure  in  sparing  some  liv- 
ing creature  the  pangs  I  felt  myself  I  got  down 
the  box  of  biscuit  and  gave  the  dog  one. 

There  were  twelve  of  the  little  cakes  left  in 
the  box.  The  dog  seemed  very  fond  of  them. 
One  would  not  be  missed.  I  hope  I  never  have 
to  go  through  such  temptation  again.  I 
weighed  a  biscuit  in  my  hand,  I  sniffed  its  fra- 
grance and  then — I  put  it  aside.  I  would  stick 
to  my  promise.  But  the  memory  of  that  bis- 
cuit haunted  me  the  rest  of  the  morning. 
Every  time  I  thought  of  it  I  had  to  cut  a  new 
hole  in  my  belt.  I  went  back  to  the  shelf  a 
hundred  times  and  looked  longingly  at  the  box, 
but  always  tore  myself  away  with  a  sigh. 

Some  time  during  the  late  afternoon  Mrs. 
Green  dressed  and  came  downstairs.  She  said 
she  was  feeling  better,  but  she  was  pale  and 
seemed  a  trifle  unsteady  on  her  pins. 

Clouds  began  to  obscure  the  sky  about  sun- 
down and  Mrs.  Green  fretted  a  good  deal  be- 


MAROONED  47 

cause  Lucile  was  away  from  home.  In  order 
to  ease  her  mind  I  volunteered  to  find  the  cou- 
ple and  take  them  raincoats  and  umbrellas. 
Just  as  I  opened  the  door  to  saunter  forth  the 
storm  burst. 

There  was  a  deafening  roar  of  wind  which 
whipped  the  branches  of  the  trees  in  sudden 
fury,  then  a  quick  rattle  of  hail  driven  like  bul- 
lets against  the  eaves-troughs.  Just  as  I 
turned  back  to  avoid  the  stinging  fusillade  of 
hail,  the  sky  appeared  to  split  in  the  middle 
with  a  blinding  light  and  a  ripping  crash  of 
thunder  which  fairly  made  my  heart  stop  beat- 
ing. The  lightning  had  obviously  struck  some- 
where in  the  vicinity. 

The  crash  of  thunder  outside  was  echoed  by 
a  thud  inside.  I  looked  around.  Mrs.  Green 
was  lying  at  full  length  on  the  floor.  From 
having  seen  it  done  on  the  stage  I  knew  that  she 
had  fainted. 

I  dropped  the  bundle  of  raincoats  and  ran  to 
her  assistance.  First  I  held  her  head  on  my 
lap  but  couldn't  seem  to  get  any  further  toward 
reviving  her.  Somewhere  I  had  read  direc- 
tions for  reviving  fainting  ladies.  One  of  the 


48  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

first  things  recommended  was  to  loosen  the  cor- 
set, but  this  seemed  to  be  an  unpardonable  lib- 
erty to  take  with  a  lady  I  had  only  met  a  few 
times.  Besides  I  didn't  know  how  to  locate  a 
corset  and  wouldn't  have  been  able  to  loosen  it 
if  I  had  found  it.  It  would  be  a  godsend  if 
someone  would  get  out  a  book  on  "How  to  Re- 
vive Fainting  Ladies  Although  a  Bachelor." 

I  looked  up  to  find  a  strange  man  in  the  room. 
He  was  clad  in  overalls  and  carried  a  satchel. 

"Are  you  married?"  I  demanded. 

"I  don't  know  why  it's  any  of  your  business," 
he  responded,  "but  I  am.  Further  than  that 
I'm  an  Elk  and  belong  to  the  union." 

"If  you're  married,  tell  me  what  to  do  with 
a  lady  who  has  fainted." 

"Give  her  some  of  this." 

He  produced  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and 
poured  a  large  portion  of  its  contents  down 
Mrs.  Green's  throat. 

"The  dame  will  be  all  right  in  a  minute.  I 
always  carry  this  just  on  purpose  for  ladies 
when  they  pull  a  fadeaway."  He  sampled  the 
Lady  Reviver  himself  reflectively  and  returned 


MAROONED  49 

the  flask  to  his  pocket.  "I'm  the  telephone  re- 
pair man.  What  ye  been  doing  to  the  wires 
over  here  ?  They  been  trying  to  get  you  from 
the  main  office  all  day." 

I  told  him  where  the  trouble  lay  and  he  de- 
parted in  the  rain  to  patch  it  up. 

Shortly  afterward  Mrs.  Green  opened  one 
eye.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  and  then 
smiled. 

"Hoi'  your  head  steady  a  minute,"  she  re- 
quested gravely.  "Wanna  see  who  y'are." 

"I'm  Mr.  Blainey,"  I  explained.  "Every- 
thing is  all  right." 

"Course  it's  a'  right.  But  I  don't  think  I'll 
get  up  till  the  boat  stops  rockin'." 

"You're  not  in  a  boat,  Mrs.  Green.  This  is 
your  own  home." 

"It's  a  boat,  I  tell  you.  I  guess  I  know  when 
I'm  seasick.  Besides,  at  home,  ain't  got  so 
many  pictures  of  purple  sunsets." 

"But  there  aren't  any  pictures  of  purple  sun- 
sets, here,"  I  protested. 

"You're  mistaken,  my  fren',  there's  two  of 
'em  over  there."  She  pointed  limply  in  the  arc 


50  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

of  a  circle  which  took  in  the  entire  opposite  side 
of  the  room.  "I'll  show  you.  Hoi'  this  board 
steady  while  I  step  on  it." 

She  gravely  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  fail- 
ing in  that  fell  back  limply  into  my  arms. 

"It's  no  use.  Ship  rocks  so  I  can't  stan'  up. 
Have  to  roll  over  there." 

I  tried  to  prevent  her  but  it  was  useless. 
She  insisted  on  rolling  on  the  floor.  She  was 
engaged  in  that  pleasant  pastime  when  her 
daughter  and  Mr.  Bopp  entered,  dripping  from 
the  rain  storm. 

I  tried  to  pick  Mrs.  Green  up. 

With  a  cry  of  alarm  Lucile  rushed  to  her 
mother's  side,  then  started  back,  sniffing  the 
air. 

"Mr.  Blainey,"  she  cried  in  horror  stricken 
tones,  "you've  been  drinking!" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Don'  scol'  my  lil'  fr'en',"  Mrs.  Green  pro- 
tested, patting  my  arm.  "He's  mos'  beautiful 
fr'en'  I  got." 

A  light  of  understanding  began  to  dawn  in 
Lucile's  eye. 

"She  fainted,"  I  explained,  "and  a  man  who 


MAROONED  51 

was  here  to  repair  the  telephone  gave  it  to  her 
to  revive  her.  It  was  too  much  on  an  empty 
stomach." 

"Is  the  telephone  fixed?"  demanded  Bopp, 
springing  up.  "Maybe  I  can  get  a  launch  to 
come  for  me  yet." 

The  look  which  Lucile  gave  him  warmed  my 
heart  and  made  up  to  me  for  the  hours  I  had 
spent  alone  that  day.  He  sank  back  into  his 
chair. 

"Will  you  call  up  Dr.  Stone,  Montmorency," 
she  requested  sweetly,  "and  ask  him  to  come 
over  to  see  mother." 

"Surely,"  I  replied. 

"You  won't  need  any  number.  Just  tell  the 
girl  to  ring  Dr.  Stone's  residence." 

I  did  and  soon  had  the  doctor  on  the  wire. 
I  told  him  that  we  wanted  him  to  come  over. 

"I  don't  believe  that  it  is  possible,"  came  the 
answer  over  the  wire. 

"Not  possible  ?"  I  echoed.     "Why  not  ?" 

"Haven't  you  seen  the  sea  that  is  running? 
It  wouldn't  be  safe  for  any  kind  of  a  boat  to 
land  at  Green's  Island  the  way  it  is  blowing 
now.  You  know  the  shore  is  very  rocky  there 


52  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

and  if  you  miss  the  entrance  to  the  cove,  you'd 
be  dashed  to  pieces  sure." 

I  told  that  to  Lucile. 

"Ask  him  what  we  should  do  for  mother  our- 
selves," she  instructed.  "Tell  him  she  has 
some  fever  and  seems  very  weak." 

I  told  the  doctor  what  she  had  said  and  asked 
what  we  could  do  for  the  old  lady  until  the  sea 
quieted  down  enough  so  that  he  could  come 
over.  He  told  me  and  I  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"Well,"  Lucile  interrogated,  "what  did  he 
say?" 

"He  said,"  I  repeated  carefully,  "he  said, 
'tell  her  to  give  her  digestive  apparatus  a  rest. 
Don't  eat  anything  for  twenty-four  hours  and 
drink  plenty  of  water.' ' 

Bopp  laughed  derisively. 

The  elder  lady  showed  signs  of  interest. 
"Thass  what  I  want — water,"  she  declared, 
"plenty  o'  water.  Blainey,  beautiful  fr'en', 
gimme  some  water.  Have  some  yourself." 

I  gave  her  a  glass  of  water  which  she  drank 
with  enviable  relish.  I  poured  her  a  second 
glass. 

"Bes'  water  I  ever  tasted,"  said  Mrs.  Green, 


MAROONED  53 

attempting  to  put  some  in  her  eye  under  the 
mistaken  impression  that  it  was  her  mouth. 
"Blainey,  be  like  me.  Never  drink  anything 
stronger  than  this  water  an'  you'll  always  be 
blithe  an'  gay,  jus'  like  me.  There's  on'y  one 
thing  bothers  me.  It's  whether  those  stairs 
are  goin'  up  or  comin'  down.  I  wanna  go  up 
but  I'm  'fraid  th'  stairs  are  comin'  down." 

"The  stairs  are  just  the  way  they  always  are, 
mother,"  Lucile  said  reprovingly,  "and  you  are 
going  up  to  bed." 

"Go  to  bed?"  echoed  her  mother.  "I  don' 
wanna  go  to  bed.  I  wanna  change  my  clothes. 
I'm  gonna  put  on  my  red  dress." 

Mother  and  daughter  started  up  the  stairs. 
On  the  landing  Mrs.  Green  halted,  turned  and 
waved  her  hand  limply  at  me. 

"Goo'  bye,  beaut'ful  Blainey.  Most  beaut'- 
f  ul  man  I  ever  met.  Goo'  bye." 

After  she  had  been  dragged  around  a  bend 
of  the  stairway  by  her  scandalized  daughter, 
there  drifted  down  to  the  living  room  a  grum- 
bled fragment  of  indignant  protest:  "Well,  he 
is  beaut'ful.  He's  more  beaut'ful  than  th' 
Methodis'  minister  an'  you  know  it." 


CHAPTER  THREE 

WHEN  we  were  left  alone  together  I  could 
tell  by  the  scowl  on  Bopp's  face  that  he  had 
fallen  heir  to  the  headache  I  had  possessed  the 
day  before.  Only  I  think  his  may  have  been 
worse  because  he  had  been  smoking  all  day 
long. 

"Cheer  up,  Bopp,"  I  admonished,  more  to 
make  conversation  than  anything  else.  "I  am 
just  as  hungry  as  you  are." 

"That  isn't  possible,"  he  declared.  "No  one 
has  ever  been  as  hungry  as  I  am." 

"Probably  I  am  more  hungry  than  you  are," 
I  insisted.  "I  have  more  room  to  be  hungry 


in." 


Tootles  came  romping  in,  barking  vocifer- 
ously. 

"Poor  pup,"  commiserated  Bopp.  "I  sup- 
pose she  is  starved,  too." 

"No,  that  isn't  the  reason  she's  barking. 
She  has  been  fed." 

57 


58  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Fed?    What?" 

"Dog  biscuit." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"In  the  kitchen,"  I  replied,  unthinkingly. 
"From  the  way  she  is  behaving  there  must  be 
someone  outside." 

It  was  almost  dark.  I  went  to  the  door  and 
peered  out.  There  was  a  man  coming  up  the 
path. 

"Who  is  it?"  Bopp  demanded. 

"I  can't  make  out." 

"Maybe  it's  a  man  off  the  supply  boat." 

"Impossible,"  I  explained.  "The  supply 
boat  isn't  due  until  tomorrow,  and  even  if  she 
were  here  they  couldn't  land  from  her  in  this 
storm." 

By  this  time  the  man  had  reached  the  porch. 
The  wind  blew  his  wet  garments  around  his 
lean  figure  and  the  water  was  dripping  dis- 
consolately from  the  peak  of  his  cap. 

It  was  the  telephone  repair  man. 

I  opened  the  door  and  admitted  him. 

"I  guess  I  got  to  stay  here  all  night,"  he  an- 
nounced. "The  storm  is  getting  so  bad  I  don't 
dare  try  to  row  back  to  town.  I  don't  care 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN     59 

much  for  water  unless  it's  mixed  with  some- 
thing else." 

Lucile  came  downstairs.  I  explained  the 
situation  to  her. 

"Of  course  you  can  stay  all  night,  but  it  will 
be  impossible  to  give  you  anything  to  eat/'  she 
said. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "I  don't  expect  to 
go  to  the  trough  with  the  family.  I'll  feed 
with  the  help  in  the  kitchen  without  a  murmur. 
As  far  as  that  goes,  though,  I'm  a  union  man 
and  as  good  as  anybody." 

"Certainly,"  agreed  Lucile.  "You  are  wel- 
come to  anything  we  have,  but  we  have  noth- 
ing." 

"No  grub?"  he  queried  incredulously. 

"None  whatever,"  she  explained.  "We  are 
all  fasting.  We  decided  not  to  eat  anything 
for  a  week." 

"Bugs,"  he  decided  briefly.  Then  turning 
to  Bopp  and  myself,  "Gents,  put  me  right.  Do 
I  or  do  I  not  coal  at  this  station  ?" 

"The  lady  has  told  you  correctly,"  I  assured 
him.  "There  is  no  food  in  the  house." 

"And  you're  doing  it,  too?"     He  laughed 


60  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

sarcastically.  'When  I  come  here  the  old  lady 
was  pulling  a  Brodie  on  the  floor  and  now  the 
fat  guy  ain't  eating  anything.  A  bunch  of 
dips  all  right." 

"You  had  better  go  upstairs  and  change  your 
clothes,"  said  Lucile. 

"What  will  I  change  'em  into?  A  nickel- 
plated  wash-boiler  or  a  pair  of  diamond  ear- 
rings?" 

"I  mean,  put  on  some  dry  things.  Frank, 
you  and  he  are  about  the  same  size.  You'll 
lend  him  a  suit  of  yours,  won't  you  ?" 

Sure  he  would.  He  had  to.  Lucile  has  a 
way  of  making  a  request  that  leaves  you  with 
no  other  course  open. 

When  they  were  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  Bopp 
yelled  down,  "Monty,  Mrs.  Green  wants  you  to 
come  up." 

I  started  to  go  but  Lucile  stopped  me. 

"Ask  her  what  she  wants,"  she  instructed 
Bopp. 

In  a  minute  he  returned  with  the  answer. 

"She  says  she  isn't  going  to  sleep  until  she 
sees  her  beautiful  friend  Monty.  If  he  doesn't 
come  up  she'll  come  down." 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN    61 

Lucile,  blushing,  went  up  to  explain  to  her 
mother  that  her  request  was  impossible.  From 
behind  the  closed  door  of  Mrs.  Green's  room 
there  issued  sounds  of  an  argument,  supple- 
mented by  weeping. 

Eventually  Lucile  came  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs  and  called,  "Monty." 

How  different  that  name  sounded  when  she 
used  it.  I  bounded  up  the  stairs.  When  I  say 
"bounded,"  I  mean  it.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  I  had  done  anything  like  that  in  years.  I 
don't  know  whether  to  give  the  credit  to  fasting 
or  to  Lucile.  I'd  prefer  to  blame  her  for  it. 

She  stood  leaning  over  the  bannister,  per- 
plexed and  troubled,  her  face  flushed  and  her 
hair  becomingly  disarranged  as  if  she  had  been 
engaged  in  a  physical  contest  of  some  sort.  I 
stopped  on  the  stairs  below  her. 

"  'The  blessed  damozel  leaned  out 
From  the  gold  bar  of  heaven ;' ' 

I  quoted. 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  voice 
that  told  me  she  liked  it.  "I  have  to  ask  you 
a  dreadfully  embarrassing  question." 


62  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"All  right,"  I  commanded.     "Shoot." 

"Would  you  mind  very  much  kissing  a  lady 
who  is  not  as  young  as  she  was  once  ?" 

"Would  I  mind?"  I  said,  taking  her  hands. 
"I've  been  thinking  of  nothing  else  for  two 
years." 

"I  meant," — disengaging  her  hands  gently, 
"would  you  mind  kissing  mother  good  night. 
She  is  acting  very  peculiarly  this  evening,  as 
you  know,  and  she  says  she  won't  go  to  sleep 
until  you  kiss  her.  I  had  no  idea  that  she  could 
be  so  stubborn." 

I  was  touched  at  the  old  lady's  fondness  for 
me.  We  went  in.  She  was  lying  tucked  up 
in  bed,  with  a  night-cap  tied  firmly  under  her 
chin. 

"Lucile  made  me  come  to  bed,"  Mrs.  Green 
yolunteered,  her  bright  eyes  snapping  with 
wakefulness.  "It's  all  nonsense.  Don'  wanna 
be  in  bed.  I  wanna  get  up  and  go  somewhere 
with  you  and  eat." 

"There,  there,"  said  Lucile,  "the  doctor  says 
not  to  eat  anything." 

"Yes,"  snapped  her  mother,  "and  I'll  bet  he 
had  just  had  his  dinner  when  he  said  it. 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN     63 

I  know  a  place  to  eat  over  in  town,  Beautiful 
Blarney — lots  of  fine  steaks,  chops  and  roas' 
beef.  Guess  I'll  get  up." 

She  started  to  throw  back  the  covers,  but 
Lucile  forcibly  restrained  her. 

"You  said  you  would  go  to  sleep  if  I  brought 
Mr.  Blainey  in  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

The  old  lady  eyed  me  with  evident  suspicion. 
"Is  he  going  to  kiss  me  good  night?"  she  de- 
manded. 

I  assured  her  that  I  was  there  for  no  other 
purpose. 

"A'  right,"  she  sighed,  "then  I'll  go  to  sleep." 

And  she  did.  Or  at  least  we  didn't  hear  an- 
other sound  from  her  that  evening. 

When  we  left  the  room  and  closed  the  door 
softly,  Lucile  put  her  hand  on  my  arm  and  said, 
"Thanks,  Monty.  It  was  awfully  silly,  but  I 
didn't  know  how  else  to  quiet  her.  You  won't 
think  anything  of  it,  will  you?" 

"Of  course  not.  It's  all  in  the  family  any- 
how, or  if  it  isn't  I  wish  it  were,"  I  hazarded, 
emboldened  by  the  pressure  on  my  arm.  For 
the  moment  I  could  not  have  been  any  happier 
if  I  had  been  fed. 


64  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

After  a  while  the  telephone  man  came  down- 
stairs in  a  suit  of  Bopp's  clothes;  light  flannel 
trousers,  outing  shoes,  fancy  shirt,  soft  collar, 
tie,  and  blue  serge  coat.  The  togs  fitted  him 
remarkably  well  and  except  for  a  vernacular 
line  of  conversation  the  man  did  not  seem  ill- 
suited  to  the  clothes.  At  any  rate  I  liked  him 
better  than  I  did  Bopp.  What  to  do  with  him 
seemed  to  be  puzzling  Lucile.  It  didn't  seem 
right  to  ask  him  to  go  out  in  the  kitchen  and 
drink  water  all  by  himself,  and  there  was  no 
other  place  to  put  him  unless  he  stayed  in  the 
living-room  with  us.  Before  she  could  decide 
one  way  or  the  other  he  seated  himself  com- 
fortably and  proceeded  to  entertain  us  with 
considerable  conversation  about  himself. 

"I  ain't  a  rube,"  he  volunteered.  "I've  been 
near  enough  Fifth  Avenue  to  know  good 
clothes  when  I  see  'em,  and  I  have  to  admit 
that  Mr.  Bopp  is  a  swell  dresser.  I  only  work 
here  in  the  summer  time.  In  the  winter  I  stick 
around  within  sight  of  the  Statue  of  Liberty. 
I'm  a  wire-tapper." 

"A  wire-tapper?"  repeated  Bopp.  "Isn't  a 
wire-tapper  a  sort  of  a  crook?" 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN    65 

"Not  compared  to  a  burglar.  Wire  tapping 
is  just  high  finance." 

While  the  storm  yelped  and  howled  without 
he  rattled  on.  Having  missed  only  one  meal 
as  yet,  his  mind  was  less  occupied  with  food 
than  ours,  and  he  was  able  to  speak  of  other 
things.  His  name,  it  appeared,  was  Harold 
Kent,  he  was  married,  was  a  Socialist  in  feel- 
ing if  not  in  theory,  had  been  a  jockey,  a  tout, 
a  telegraph  operator,  and  hoped  to  learn  to  fly 
an  aeroplane.  Otherwise,  his  was  an  unevent- 
ful history. 

All  the  time  I  was  listening  my  mind  was 
occupied  with  trying  to  account  for  the  thrill 
which  had  jolted  me  when  I  had  taken  Lucile's 
hands  in  mine  at  the  top  of  the  staircase. 
Being  a  dramatic  critic  by  profession  I  had 
seen  so  much  love  from  an  aisle  seat  about  six 
rows  back,  that  I  had  outgrown  my  childish 
belief  that  there  was  "any  sich  a  animile." 
Maybe  my  sensation  came  simply  from  lack  of 
food.  If  it  did  it  was  almost  worth  while  to 
go  on  fasting  for  the  rest  of  my  life  to  see  if  it 
would  not  happen  again. 

J  decided  to  put  my  fortunes  to  the  test.    I 


66  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

would  sit  up  until  Bopp  went  to  bed  and  then 
ask  her  to  marry  me. 

Kent,  the  telephone  man,  retired  first,  prom- 
ising himself  out  loud  to  be  up  and  off  break- 
fastward  at  daybreak. 

"I  think  I'll  sit  up  a  while,"  I  said,  stealing 
a  look  at  Lucile  and  hoping  that  she  would  com- 
prehend my  intention. 

"If  you're  going  to  sit  up,  I'll  stick,"  said 
Bopp,  with  Machiavellian  cordiality.  "I'll  split 
a  gallon  of  water  with  you." 

There  we  sat,  and  we  drank  glass  after  glass 
of  water  until  eleven  o'clock.  Then  Lucile  de- 
cided to  retire  and  spoiled  the  whole  game. 

"I  guess  I'll  turn  in  now,  too,"  I  suggested 
tentatively,  hoping  at  least  that  I  would  get  a 
chance  to  speak  to  her  on  the  stairs. 

But  no,  Bopp  developed  a  sudden  fondness 
for  my  society  and  accompanied  me  to  my  room 
and  sat  on  my  bed  for  a  while,  talking  about 
affairs  theatrical,  assuming  that  I  was  inter- 
ested in  them,  which  I  was  not. 

When  he  finally  departed  the  house  was  dark 
and  the  wind  of  the  storm  made  unearthly 
noises  around  the  eaves.  I  was  more  tired  than 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN     67 

I  remembered  to  have  been  for  years,  but  not 
sleepy.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  actual 
hunger  or  merely  the  idea  that  I  had  not  eaten 
anything  for  forty-eight  hours  which  haunted 
me.  At  any  rate,  every  time  that  I  closed  my 
eyes  I'd  have  a  vision  of  those  dog  biscuit.  I 
might  just  as  well  have  pictured  a  chocolate 
cake  or  a  doughnut  to  myself,  but  no,  it  was  a 
dog  biscuit.  It  was  their  nearness  that  lent 
enchantment  to  their  quality. 

After  an  hour  or  so  of  that  kind  of  torture 
I  at  last  decided  to  satisfy  my  fool  imagination 
by  showing  it  a  dog  biscuit  in  the  life  and  prov- 
ing that  it  was  not  desirable  at  all.  That  was 
the  only  reason  that  I  went  downstairs. 

It  is  rather  ticklish  business  roaming  around 
a  strange  house  wearing  no  other  padding  than 
a  suit  of  pajamas.  I  banged  my  shins  unmer- 
cifully against  several  hundred  pieces  of  furni- 
ture, but  I  toned  my  remarks  thereat  to  a  pitch 
below  the  howling  of  the  storm.  An  occa- 
sional flash  of  lightning  helped  me  momentarily 
from  time  to  time,  but  left  me  floundering  in 
the  intervals. 

Finally,  in  the  kitchen,  I  groped  my  way  to 


68  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

the  shelf  and  the  box  of  dog  biscuit  was  in  my 
hands.  Furtively  I  took  one  out,  fondled  it 
and  sniffed  it.  Being  alone  there  with  that  un- 
protected dog  biscuit  was  too  much  for  my 
moral  courage.  I  decided  to  throw  honor  to 
the  winds.  There  was  so  much  wind  and  so 
little  honor  that  no  one  would  notice  it. 

I  set  my  teeth  in  the  dog  biscuit ! 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sound  on  the  stairway, 
a  noise  apart  from  that  made  by  the  storm.  I 
listened  intently.  It  came  again — the  creaking 
of  a  stair. 

Who  could  it  be? 

Possibly  it  was  Kent,  the  ex-wire  tapper. 
His  early  training  might  have  proved  too  much 
for  him  and  he  had  decided  to  loot  the  place 
and  make  his  escape.  Maybe  he  would  not 
stop  at  murder  if  balked  of  his  design.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  behave  valiantly,  and  grasped 
a  dog  biscuit  firmly  in  one  hand,  determined  to 
sell  my  life  as  dearly  as  was  consistent  with  the 
high  cost  of  living.  The  box  containing  the 
rest  of  the  biscuit  I  put  back  on  the  shelf  and 
crouched  behind  the  stove  ready  to  spring  at 
the  intruder  unawares  as  soon  as  he  entered. 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN     69 

There  is  an  awful  moment  in  the  life  of  the 
average  man  when  he  hears  burglars  in  his 
house  and  decides  to  put  them  to  flight  single 
handed.  He,  the  householder,  knows  that 
burglars  are  armed  and  expecting  trouble,  and 
that  in  a  fight  the  wide-awake  thief  has  the  ad- 
vantage over  the  suddenly  aroused  inmates. 
Knowing  that  it  is  foolhardy  he  goes  on  just 
the  same.  Why?  Brave?  Maybe,  but  usu- 
ally because  of  Public  Opinion.  It  is  the  cor- 
rect thing  to  defend  your  house  against  thieves. 
It  has  been  so  ever  since  Magna  Charta  and 
before  that,  when  burglar  insurance  and  auto- 
matic revolvers  were  not  invented.  A  man 
who  does  not  defend  his  own  property  even 
when  it  is  fully  insured  is  regarded  as  a  pol- 
troon. There  isn't  any  sense  to  it,  but  it  is  so. 
Haven't  you  done  it  yourself  ? 

At  any  rate  I  had  one  of  those  flashes  of  in- 
sane bravery  which  is  nine-tenths  fear  when  I 
saw  the  light  of  a  pocket  lantern  straggling 
along  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

I  jumped  four  feet  straight  up  in  the  air 
when  something  wet  touched  the  sole  of  my 
bare  foot  which  was  extended  behind  me  as  I 


70  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

knelt  behind  the  stove.  My  exclamation  was 
drowned  in  a  crash  of  thunder.  Burglar  or  no 
burglar,  I  was  about  to  run  to  him  for  protec- 
tion from  that  clammy  thing  which  had  touched 
me  when  a  second  flash  of  lightning  showed 
Tootles  frisking  around  my  feet.  She  was 
frightened  by  the  storm  and  had  touched  my 
foot  for  companionship. 

Somewhat  shaken  I  crouched  behind  the 
stove  again  in  time  to  see  a  dim  figure  enter 
the  kitchen.  Before  it  came  near  enough  for 
me  to  spring  the  lightning  revealed  Lucile  in  a 
dressing-gown  with  her  hair  over  her  shoul- 
ders. I  can't  remember  details,  but  I  do  know 
that  in  the  single  flash  of  light  she  appeared 
to  be  the  most  beautiful  thing  that  I  had  ever 
seen. 

She  turned  the  flashlight  on  the  wall  and 
finally  rested  its  ray  on  the  box  of  dog  bis- 
cuit! She  went  over  to  it,  picked  up  one  of 
the  biscuit,  pressed  it  to  her  cheek  and  was 
about  to  bite  it,  when  she  hastily  dropped  it 
back  into  the  box,  put  out  the  light  and  stood 
perfectly  still,  listening. 

There  was  another  sound  on  the  stairs ! 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN    71 

When  I  looked  to  see  what  Lucile  was  doing 
she  had  disappeared.  Probably  she,  too,  was 
hiding  somewhere  near,  I  reasoned. 

This  time  there  was  less  delay.  Whoever 
was  coming  downstairs  was  carelessly  assured 
and  was  scratching  matches  on  the  wall  as  he 
went  along  to  guide  his  progress. 

He  entered  the  kitchen. 

It  was  Bopp,  clad  in  the  sort  of  pajamas  I 
thought  he  wore. 

He  was  laughing  to  himself  as  he  came  in 
and  went  straight  to  the  box  of  biscuit.  He 
took  one  out  of  the  box. 

And  he  ate  it! 

Before  that  I  may  have  disliked  the  man,  but 
now — 

A  smile  of  enjoyment  spread  over  his  fea- 
tures plainly  discernible  when  the  lightning 
flashed.  Evidently  the  dog  biscuit  were  de- 
licious. 

At  last  he  finished  and  started  to  leave.  I 
was  about  to  breathe  a  sigh  of  relief  when  I 
happened  to  glance  toward  the  shelf  where  the 
biscuit  were  kept. 

The  box  was  gone.    The  fiend  was  taking 


72  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

them  with  him.  Without  a  thought  for  poor 
Tootles,  who  would  doubtless  starve  to  death, 
he  was  going  to  eat  all  her  food. 

With  one  bound  I  was  upon  him.  The 
thought  of  that  poor  dog  steeled  my  heart.  I 
grabbed  him  by  the  throat  and  we  swayed  back 
and  forth  in  a  rough  and  tumble  fox-trot  move- 
ment to  the  tune  of  the  rolling  thunder.  Bopp 
did  not  know  as  I  did  that  Lucile  was  watching 
somewhere  there  in  the  darkness,  and  on  that 
account  he  was  able  to  use  more  forcible  lan- 
guage than  I,  but  I  had  superior  weight  and  I 
was  slowly  bearing  him  back  when  all  at  once 
he  dropped  the  box  of  dog  biscuit  and  with  his 
free  hand  landed  a  wallop  in  my  stomach !  It 
would  have  been  a  foul  under  any  circum- 
stances, but  with  my  inner  workings  resem- 
bling those  of  a  vacuum  cleaner  it  was  posi- 
tively inhuman. 

Maddened  by  that  blow,  I  growled  between 
my  clenched  teeth,  "If  you  hit  me  below  the 
belt  again  I'll  tear  your  pajamas !" 

He  growled  back,  "Let  'er  rip,"  and  swung 
on  me  twice  more  in  the  same  place. 

With  mad  fury  I  picked  him  up  and  hurled 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN    73 

him  from  me.  There  was  a  terrific  crash  of 
glass  and  then,  save  for  the  disturbance  out- 
side, all  was  still. 

I  lit  the  light — acetylene  gas. 

The  wreckage  of  that  kitchen  was  beyond  the 
descriptive  powers  of  a  mere  dramatic  critic. 
Bopp  lay  sprawled  on  the  kitchen  floor  near 
the  table  where  he  had  struck  when  I  threw 
him.  The  table  itself  had  overturned  on  to  the 
week's  supply  of  water  in  glass  bottles,  and 
had  apparently  broken  most  of  them.  Lucile 
was  standing,  pale  and  dishevelled,  but  still 
beautiful,  in  the  doorway  of  the  pantry  where 
she  had  been  hiding. 

After  an  interval  Bopp  laboriously  picked 
himself  up  and  waded  toward  the  stairway 
through  the  torrent  of  distilled  water  which 
was  streaming  across  the  floor. 

"There's  your  dog  biscuit,"  he  sneered, 
pointing  to  Tootles,  who  had  discovered  the 
box  and  was  gulping  down  the  contents  as  fast 
as  she  could.  "Fasting  for  a  week!  Ha! 
Ha!" 

Then  he  disappeared  upstairs. 

I  turned  to  Lucile.     She  had  dropped  into  a 


74  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

chair  and  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
She  was  crying. 

"What's  the  matter,  Lucile?"  I  asked  ten- 
derly. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  sobbed;  "just  nerves,  I 
guess." 

"You  ought  not  to  be  about  at  this  time  of 
night,"  I  said  sternly. 

"I  know,"  she  replied.  "I  just  came  down 
to — to  feed  Tootles." 

I  would  have  believed  her  if  I  had  not  seen 
the  biscuit  in  her  mouth.  But  what  man 
would  not  forgive  a  small  fib  on  the  part  of  the 
woman  he  loves? 

"Listen  to  me,  Lucile  dear,"  I  said  authori- 
tatively, taking  her  hand,  "we  are  not  going  to 
fast  any  more.  If  your  father  were  here  he 
would  call  a  halt.  Here  your  mother  is  sick, 
you  are  hysterical,  and  hardly  any  one  of  us  is 
on  speaking  terms  with  the  others.  Besides, 
we  have  got  to  stop.  Our  water  supply  is 
gone." 

Lucile  looked  up.  "Then  it  won't  really  be 
our  fault,  will  it?"  she  asked  hopefully.  "If 


THE  RAID  ON  THE  KITCHEN     75 

we  haven't  pure  water  we  can't  go  on  fasting. 
Lipton  S.  Clair  says  so." 

"And  that's  the  best  thing  he  ever  said,  too," 
I  agreed  heartily. 

So  it  was  decided  that  the  next  day  we'd 
have  a  new  stock  of  groceries  come  on  the  sup- 
ply boat  and  telephone  the  cook  to  come  back. 
I  think  the  prospect  cheered  us  wonderfully. 
I  know  I  felt  better  immediately  and  I  per- 
suaded Lucile  to  go  back  to  bed  and  get  some 
rest  before  daylight. 

She  went  in  to  see  how  her  mother  was  be- 
fore retiring. 

There  was  a  cry  from  Mrs.  Green's  room  and 
I  rushed  in. 

Mrs.  Green  had  disappeared! 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
MYSTERY 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

You  have  guessed  correctly  that  this  is 
where  the  element  of  mystery  enters  the  story. 
You  doubtless  wonder,  as  we  did,  if  Kent,  the 
wire  tapper,  had  made  away  with  Mrs.  Green, 
or  if  Bopp,  balked  of  his  dog  biscuit,  had  be- 
come a  villain  of  the  deepest  dye. 

We  did  not  come  to  any  such  conclusions  at 
first,  of  course.  That  was  after  we  had  looked 
all  over  the  house,  up  in  the  attic  and  down  in 
the  cellar.  Then  I  went  to  Kent's  room.  He 
was  snoring  peacefully.  I  mistrusted  that  he 
might  be  shamming  and  poured  a  pitcher  of 
water  on  him  to  see  how  he  would  react  to  the 
shock.  Judging  as  well  as  I  could  without 
scientific  instruments  I  should  say  that  his  re- 
actions were  perfectly  normal — albeit  some- 
what picturesquely  abusive. 

Next,  we  haled  Bopp  from  his  room.  He 
was  inclined  to  be  suspicious  at  first  until  we 
told  him  about  Mrs.  Green's  disappearance. 

79 


8o  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

Then  he  was  all  sympathy  and  joined  our 
lightly  clad  searching  party  in  the  hallway. 

Naturally,  Lucile  feared  the  worst,  while 
the  rest  of  us  with  masculine  optimism  dis- 
counted any  danger  which  might  befall  the  old 
lady. 

"But  she  wasn't  herself,"  wailed  Lucile. 
"She's  been  acting  funny  all  the  evening." 

"Never  mind  about  her,"  comforted  Kent. 
"A  man  with  a  jag  can  fall  off  the  roof  and 
never  hurt  himself  a  bit.  A  bit  of  a  bun  makes 
anybody  lucky." 

"Suppose  she  is  out  in  all  this  rain  ?" 

"A  little  water,  more  or  less,  won't  make  any 
difference  to  her  after  the  last  two  days,"  I 
observed  gloomily. 

"Let's  not  stand  here  any  longer,"  said  Bopp, 
in  businesslike  fashion.  "It  won't  do  much 
good  to  try  to  guess  where  she  is.  Let's  begin 
a  systematic  hunt." 

"Let's  get  on  some  regular  clothes  first,"  I 
suggested. 

"All  right,"  in  chorus. 

Lucile  dressed  faster  than  she  ever  had  be- 
fore or  has  since,  and  we  men  with  the  usual 


MYSTERY  81 

celerity  of  the  bifurcated  sex,  were  ready  as 
soon  as  she  was. 

As  soon  as  we  had  assembled  in  the  living- 
room  once  more,  Bopp,  by  reason  of  his  supe- 
rior nerve,  elected  himself  commander  of  the 
expedition. 

"Monty,"  he  directed,  "you  take  Jesse  James 
with  you  and  explore  the  north  half  of  the 
island.  Lucile  and  I  will  search  the  southern 
portion.  As  soon  as  either  party  discovers 
Mrs.  Green,  come  back  to  the  house  and  fire  off 
this  revolver."  He  laid  a  large  caliber  six- 
shooter  on  the  table. 

I  might  have  disputed  his  arrangement  and 
calm  appropriation  of  Lucile's  society,  but  I 
judged  that  it  would  be  a  poor  time  to  argue 
about  anything  so  purely  social.  Besides,  I 
figured  out  that  the  man  who  was  with  Lucile 
was  going  to  have  no  cinch  reassuring  her  that 
her  mother  had  not  met  with  some  terrible  tak- 
ing-orT.  So  they  went  one  way,  and  we  de- 
parted the  other,  everybody  sloshing  internally 
and  externally  on  account  of  the  large  amount 
of  distilled  water  and  rain. 

The  actual  downpour  had  settled  into  a 


82  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

steady  drizzle  which  the  wind  hurled  into  our 
faces  stingingly. 

"How  are  we  going  to  hunt  this  skirt,  any- 
way?" demanded  Kent,  after  we  had  trudged 
northward  for  a  few  moments. 

"Just  hunt,"  I  replied  vaguely,  too  busy  with 
my  thoughts  to  consider  the  question  seriously. 

"This  ain't  regular,"  objected  Kent,  slacking 
up  his  pace.  "We  ought  to  trail  the  old  dame 
by  her  footprints.  Did  you  notice  any  foot- 
prints around  the  house  ?" 

"No.     I  didn't  think  to  look." 

"Well,  let's  go  back  and  have  a  peek." 

As  that  coincided  with  the  methods  of  rea- 
soning adopted  by  the  detectives  in  the  best 
sellers,  I  agreed  and  we  retraced  our  footsteps 
to  the  house. 

"You  seem  to  know  a  good  deal  about  detec- 
tive methods,"  I  said,  with  mock  admiration. 

"Yeh,"  he  responded  seriously,  "I  ought  to. 
I've  been  chased  by  some  of  the  best  detectives 
in  New  York."  Then  he  added  proudly,  "I 
had  Burns  after  me  once." 

We  found  ourselves  at  the  house  once  more. 

"Under  her  window  is  the  first  place  to  look," 


MYSTERY  83 

said  Kent,  alive  with  interest  now  in  the 
scheme.  "Where  did  she  sleep?" 

I  picked  out  the  window  of  Mrs.  Green's 
room  and  we  carefully  searched  the  wet  ground 
underneath  by  lighting  matches  and  kneeling 
in  the  mud. 

"Isn't  it  more  probable  that  she  would  come 
out  by  the  door?"  I  suggested.  "She  could 
never  climb  from  that  second  story  window." 

"Sure  she  could,"  he  asserted.  "See  that 
rain  pipe  here  ?  It  goes  alongside  her  window. 
A  lady  like  her  could  shin  up  and  down  that 
like  a  mice." 

Someway  the  picture  of  my  future  mother- 
in-law  (I  hoped)  frisking  up  and  down  a  nar- 
row water  pipe  was  beyond  my  imagination. 

"Look  here,"  exclaimed  my  companion, 
pointing  to  the  ground  in  front  of  him.  "Is 
that,  or  is  it  not,  the  print  of  a  lady's  shoe?" 

I  looked.  There  was  certainly  a  footprint 
there  and  it  was  small  and  narrow. 

"It's  fresh,  too.  You  can  tell  by  the  mud 
that  it's  been  made  since  the  heavy  rain.  Old 
footprints  would  have  been  washed  out  any- 
how." 


84  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

This  was  sure  enough  reasoning  so  I  did  not 
dispute  it. 

Kent  started  to  walk  in  the  direction  that 
the  footprints  led  and  I  followed,  being  careful 
not  to  step  on  the  marks  in  the  soft  mud.  All 
at  once  Kent  stopped  and  lit  several  matches 
all  in  one  place. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  enquired. 

"I  think  I've  solved  the  mystery,"  he  said, 
bending  over  the  mud.  "But  it  looks  bad  for 
the  doll." 

"Why?" 

"There's  a  guy  following  her.  Look  at 
these  marks." 

With  a  shudder  I  verified  his  statement. 
Larger  footprints  were  in  the  mud  with  the 
small  ones.  The  owner  of  the  large  shoes  had 
evidently  followed  the  lady,  because  in  many 
cases  the  small  footprints  were  partially  ob- 
literated by  the  larger  ones. 

Kent  echoed  my  own  thought.  "Gee,  I  wish 
we  had  brought  the  'gat'  with  us." 

"Let's  hurry  on  before  it's  too  late,"  I  urged. 

So  we  pressed  forward  at  a  killing  pace,  only 
stopping  once  in  a  while  to  assure  ourselves 


MYSTERY  85 

that  we  were  on  the  right  track.  At  one  place 
the  ground  was  trampled  over  a  considerable 
area. 

"He  caught  up  with  her  here,"  Kent  inter- 
preted. "They  struggled.  Look,  she  dropped 
this." 

He  picked  up  a  handkerchief.  By  the  light 
of  a  match  I  discovered  that  it  was  marked 
"G."  There  could  be  no  doubt;  we  were  on 
the  right  track. 

"She  got  away  from  him,  though,"  exulted 
Kent.  "See  here,  just  beyond  her  footsteps 
are  ahead  again." 

We  hurried  on.  I  had  left  my  breath  miles 
behind  and  made  no  attempt  at  speech.  I  was 
terribly  tired,  but  the  thought  of  what  Lucile 
would  think  of  me  if  I  did  not  strain  every 
nerve  to  save  her  mother  urged  me  on. 

A  quick  spurt  of  flame  ahead  halted  us.  We 
heard  an  indistinct  murmur  of  voices,  the 
sound  of  twigs  being  broken,  then  absolute 
silence. 

"Sh!"  Kent  whispered.  "As  we  are  not 
armed,  we  must  creep  up  as  close  as  we  can, 
then  when  the  son-of-a-gun  pipes  us  off  we  can 


86  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

spring  on  him  before  he  can  wing  us.  Do  you 
get  me?" 

I  admitted  that  his  plan  was  good. 

"Then  on  your  knees  and  be  careful,"  he 
commanded. 

I  dropped  to  my  knees  with  a  feeling  of  fa- 
tigue which  warned  me  what  an  effort  I  should 
have  to  make  when  it  came  to  rising  to  a  stand- 
ing posture  again.  We  crept  through  mud 
puddles  without  noticing  them. 

There  was  no  sound,  but  all  at  once  I  felt 
someone  to  be  near.  I  held  my  breath  and 
crouched  ready  to  hurl  myself  at  whatever  man 
or  thing  stood  before  me.  I  heard  the  sound 
of  a  safety  match  being  scratched  unsuccess- 
fully against  a  box.  When  it  finally  lighted 
what  would  be  revealed?  I  hated  to  look,  yet 
dreaded  more  the  intolerable  suspense. 

At  last  the  match  sputtered  and  flared.  A 
jagged  circle  of  yellow  light  flickered  a  moment 
while  I  crouched  ready  to  spring,  then  burned 
dimmer  and  went  out.  Still  I  remained  un- 
sprung. 

The  silence  was  unbroken  until  the  light  dis- 
appeared, then  Bopp's  laugh  rang  out  loud  and 


MYSTERY  87 

clear,  followed  a  moment  later  by  a  hysterical 
giggle  which  I  recognized  as  Lucile's. 

While  I  scuttled  away  as  hastily  as  possible 
in  order  to  be  out  of  range  before  he  could 
light  another  match,  I  heard  him  say  in  a  child- 
ish falsetto,  "One — two — three  for  Monty !" 

I  did  not  hear  what  else  he  had  to  offer  be- 
cause I  got  out  of  ear  shot  as  soon  as  possible. 
A  few  hundred  yards  on  the  trail  back  to  the 
house  Kent  joined  me.  We  proceeded  Indian- 
fashion  silently  for  a  while. 

Finally  he  ruminated,  "It's  damn  queer  how 
I  forgot  about  her  and  him  being  on  the  island. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  them  we  was  doing  fine. 
I  suppose  we'll  have  to  go  back  to  the  house  and 
begin  all  over  again." 

"No  more  footprints,"  I  insisted  hastily. 
"We'll  just  hunt  as  plain  amateur  hunters  and 
cut  out  the  detective  stuff." 

Kent  was  visibly  crestfallen.  I  don't  think 
he  cared  particularly  whether  Mrs.  Green  was 
found  or  not,  but  he  had  derived  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure  out  of  picturing  himself  as  a  sleuth 
hound,  and  just  plain  searching  for  an  old  lady 
lost  in  the  woods  did  not  appeal  to  him  as  being 


88  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

much  of  a  pastime  for  a  damp  drizzly  morning. 

It  was  beginning  to  get  light — not  bright 
enough  to  see  anything,  but  that  sort  of  a  green 
mist  which  gives  you  a  chill  just  to  look  at  it. 
The  cold  of  that  morning  will  linger  with  me 
when  I  am  broiling  in  the  nethermost  inferno. 
No  sleep,  no  food,  wet  and  cold.  I  tried  to 
warm  myself  by  thinking  of  how  mad  I  was  at 
Bopp,  but  even  that  was  unsuccessful. 

The  sky  had  progressed  in  colour  from  gray 
to  steel  blue,  also  a  nice  frost-bitten  colour,  and 
we  were  splashing  around  the  north  shore  of 
the  island,  when  the  muffled  report  of  a  gun 
reached  our  ears. 

'They've  found  her,"  said  Kent  without  en- 
thusiasm. 

I  assented. 

"Let's  go  back,"  he  suggested. 

I  hesitated.  I  hated  to  face  Lucile  after  the 
ridiculous  scene  of  a  short  time  before,  yet  I 
could  not  leave  her  with  the  enemy  continu- 
ously without  admitting  defeat.  Besides,  I 
had  done  and  suffered  as  much  for  Mrs. 
Green's  sake  as  if  I  had  been  successful  in 
finding  her. 


MYSTERY,  89 

So  we  went  back. 

When  we  reached  the  house  no  one  was  in 
sight. 

' 'Probably  upstairs  putting  the  old  dame  to 
bed,"  Kent  said. 

I  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  called 
softly,  "Lucile." 

There  was  no  answer  and  I  went  up.  I 
rapped  on  Mrs.  Green's  door  and  then  entered. 
There  was  no  sign  of  her.  Somewhat  puz- 
zled, I  went  downstairs. 

"Nobody  there,"  I  announced  to  Kent. 

"That's  funny.  Must  be  around  some- 
where." 

Just  at  that  moment  there  was  a  sound  out- 
side and  I  looked  out,  to  see  Lucile  and  Bopp 
approaching.  Lucile  was  pale  and  her  eyes 
were  sunken.  Both  she  and  Bopp  were  appar- 
ently dead  tired  and  only  just  able  to  drag 
themselves  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house. 

"Well,"  sighed  Lucile,  "where's  mother? 
In  bed?" 

"Where  did  you  put  her?"  I  countered. 

"I?"  exclaimed  Lucile.  "I  haven't  seen 
her." 


90  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Haven't  seen  her?"  Kent  interjected. 
"Then  who  fired  the  revolver?" 

"Didn't  you  ?"  interposed  Bopp. 

"No." 

"Who  did  then  ?"  with  sudden  apprehension. 

Kent  picked  up  the  gun  from  the  table  and 
broke  it.  Six  loaded  cartridges  dropped  out. 

"This  cannon  ain't  been  fired,"  he  said, 
sniffing  the  barrel. 

We  looked  at  one  another  with  frightened 
eyes.  What  unseen  force  was  playing  pranks 
on  us  ?  First  the  disappearance  of  Mrs.  Green, 
then  the  revolver  shot  coming  out  of  the  air. 
It  seemed  too  much  to  account  for  by  natural 
means. 

When  the  telephone  bell  rang,  our  nerves,  all 
on  paper  edge,  gave  one  united  leap.  I  an- 
swered the  summons. 

"Hello,"  I  said. 

"This  is  the  telegraph  operator  at  Fair 
View,"  said  a  masculine  voice.  "Have  you 
got  a  party  at  your  place  named  N.  Blainey  or 
something  like  that?" 

"Yes,  I  am  Mr.  Blainey." 

"Probably  it's  for  you,  then.     We  got  a  rush 


MYSTERY  91 

message  for  N.  Blainey  which  we  can't  deliver 
to  you  on  account  of  the  storm.  Are  you  ex- 
pecting anything?" 

"Yes,"  I  assented,  "I  am  always  getting  tele- 
grams. Read  it  to  me  over  the  telephone." 

"I  can't  do  that.  I  don't  know  you.  You'll 
have  to  get  Mr.  Green  or  one  of  his  family  to 
take  the  message  for  you." 

"Very  well,  hold  the  wire,"  I  requested,  put- 
ting my  hand  over  the  mouthpiece.  "Lucile, 
will  you  take  this  telegram?  It's  for  me,  but 
they  say  they'll  have  to  read  it  to  some  member 
of  the  family  because  they  don't  know  me." 

Lucile  took  the  receiver,  picked  up  a  pencil 
hanging  by  a  string  to  the  telephone  and  wrote 
down  the  telegram  on  a  scratch  pad  on  the  wall 
as  the  operator  read  it  over  the  wire.  When 
it  was  done,  without  comment  she  handed  it  to 
me. 

It  read  as  follows: 

"N.  Blaney: 

"Coming  to  you  at  last.  Arrive  today. 
Have  marriage  license  ready. 

"VlDA   DUNMORE." 


92  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Wait,"  I  exclaimed,  "this  can't  be  for  me. 
Call  up  that  operator  again." 

"Don't  try  to  explain,"  said  Lucile  coldly. 
"I  suppose  you  don't  even  know  who  Vida 
Dunmore  is?" 

I  debated  a  moment  as  to  whether  I  should 
lie  or  not,  but  what  was  the  use  ?  I  did  know 
a  Vida  Dunmore,  an  actress.  In  fact  I  had 
seen  and  criticized  her  work  only  the  week  be- 
fore. 

"Yes,"  I  said  slowly,  "I  know  her,  or  I  know 
a  girl  by  that  name,  but  we  are  not  friends. 
This  telegram  is  a  mistake." 

I  saw  that  she  did  not  believe  me,  but  I  had 
no  chance  to  explain,  because  in  an  instant  we 
had  all  jumped  to  our  feet  and  were  straining 
our  overwrought  nerves  to  catch  a  sound  which 
punctuated  the  roar  of  the  storm. 

Somewhere  near  a  revolver  shot  had  been 
fired. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
ALONG  CAME  ROSALIND 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

EVEN  Kent's  flagging  interest  revived.  Un- 
explained revolver  shots  were  more  like  the 
regular  thing. 

We  all  hastened  out  of  doors. 

"Do  you  suppose  someone  is  shooting  at 
mother?"  Lucile  worried. 

I  tried  to  reassure  her,  but  my  efforts  were 
politely  repulsed.  Apparently  the  matter  of 
the  telegram  had  erected  a  wall  of  ice  between 
us.  Fortunately,  that  could  easily  be  explained 
away  as  soon  as  I  had  time  to  get  the  telegraph 
operator  on  the  wire  again  and  discover  for 
whom  the  message  really  was  intended. 

"It  sounded  as  if  it  came  from  the  beach." 
Kent  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  dock. 

"No,  I  am  sure  it  was  inland,"  argued  Bopp. 

At  heart  I  was  inclined  to  agree  with  my 
rival,  but  rather  than  appear  to  do  so  I  started 
for  the  water  front. 

Around  a  bank  of  bushes  I  came  in  full  sight 

95 


96  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

of  the  lake.  There  was  a  comparatively  quiet 
cove  where  the  dock  was,  but  just  beyond  a 
headland  which  sheltered  the  cove  the  waves 
were  piling  over  themselves  in  boiling  torrents 
where  a  sharp-toothed  reef  was  hidden  a  couple 
of  feet  below  the  surface. 

The  explanation  of  the  revolver  shots  was 
obvious.  A  small  steamboat  was  jammed  hard 
and  fast  on  the  rocks,  and  was  pounding  her- 
self with  a  violence  which  prophesied  a  short 
life  for  her  hull.  Just  as  I  appeared  a  man 
forward  of  the  pilot  house  fired  a  revolver  in 
the  air.  As  soon  as  he  saw  me  he  began  to 
wave  his  arms  violently  and  pointed  to  three 
other  figures  crouched  on  the  deck. 

By  this  time  the  rest  of  our  party  had  caught 
up  with  me. 

"He  seems  to  be  signalling,"  Bopp  inter- 
preted sagely.  "Wonder  what  he  wants." 

"What  would  you  want  if  you  were  in  a  boat 
aground  in  the  lake  with  every  chance  of  going 
to  pieces  in  ten  minutes?"  I  yelled  so  as  to  be 
heard  above  the  sea.  "I  suppose  you  would  be 
wishing  for  some  poached  plover's  eggs  on  a 
strip  of  toast." 


ALONG  CAME  ROSALIND         97 

"They  can't  expect  us  to  come  out  there  and 
get  them,"  he  decided.  "No  boat  could  live  in 
that  sea.  It  would  be  suicide  to  attempt  to 
reach  them." 

"We  must  do  something,"  Lucile  decided, 
with  ready  sympathy.  "I'm  very  fond  of  the 
captain.  He's  been  bringing  our  supplies  for 
ten  years." 

"Is  that  the  supply  boat?"  Bopp  demanded. 

"Why,  yes,  certainly." 

"We  must  do  something  at  once."  Bopp 
began  to  run  around  in  busy  circles  in  the  sand. 
"We  must  attempt  to  reach  the  poor  devils. 
Kent,  where's  that  boat  of  yours  ?" 

"I  drew  it  up  on  the  shore  here,  right  along- 
side the  dock — why,  where  is  it?" 

"Gone,  eh?"  Bopp  shook  his  head  know- 
ingly. "Probably  the  heavy  sea  washed  it  off." 

"Yes,  but  no  sea  ever  untied  the  knot  I  had 
in  her  painter  around  this  post  here."  Kent 
would  have  seen  a  mystery  in  Utopia.  His 
mind  insisted  upon  being  pitted  against  the 
unknown. 

"Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do?"  Bopp  said 
helplessly.  "Those  poor  devils  out  there  are 


98  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

counting  on  us.  Think  of  being  on  a  vessel 
loaded  with  bread,  butter,  eggs,  vegetables  and 
meat,  and  having  it  break  up  under  your  feet. 
What  shall  we  do?" 

"I'm  afraid  we  won't  have  time  to  do  any- 
thing," I  decided.  "Her  back  is  broken.  It's 
only  a  question  of  seconds,  now." 

The  people  on  board  realized  it  too.  They 
hastily  launched  a  life  raft  over  the  side  and 
scrambled  on  to  it  as  the  decks  crumpled  be- 
neath them  and  became  a  twisted  mass  of  tim- 
bers that  writhed  for  a  moment  and  fell  back 
into  the  waves  to  become  driftwood. 

The  raft,  fortunately,  had  cleared  the  wreck 
in  plenty  of  time  and  was  now  drifting  past 
our  cove  toward  the  mainland.  The  men  on 
board  seemed  busy  arranging  a  sort  of  mast 
and  sail  made  out  of  an  oar  and  a  couple  of 
oilskins.  When  they  got  that  rigged  up,  two 
of  them  held  it  up  while  a  third  attempted  to 
steer  with  a  second  oar. 

"They're  going  to  try  to  land  on  the  other 
point  of  the  cove,"  Lucile  said.  "We  must  be 
there  to  help  them  when  they  come  ashore. 
There  are  rocks  about  a  hundred  yards  out 


ALONG  CAME  ROSALIND         99 

where  the  raft  will  strike  if  it  isn't  driven 
past." 

She  led  off  on  a  dog-trot  which  took  the  last 
tuck  out  of  me  when  I  attempted  to  follow.  I 
got  there  some  way,  however,  but  minus  the 
power  of  speech. 

"Don't  land  here!"  shouted  Lucile  into  the 
teeth  of  the  gale.  "Dangerous  rocks !" 

She  might  as  well  have  been  whispering  for 
all  they  could  hear  out  there  on  that  bobbing 
raft,  besides,  I  imagined  they  would  gladly 
have  welcomed  a  rock  or  anything  else  fairly 
solid  and  substantial. 

They  discovered  the  rocks  for  themselves 
almost  immediately  and  slid  off  from  the  raft 
in  a  compact  group.  The  next  few  minutes 
passed  rather  rapidly.  Under  the  direction  of 
Kent,  who  had  read  a  book  about  it  somewhere, 
we  formed  ourselves  into  a  life  line  by  holding 
on  to  one  another's  hands  and  wading  out  into 
the  surf.  The  sea  was  not  running  so  high  in 
the  cove  as  it  was  outside  or  we  could  not  have 
done  this,  but  it  was  bad  enough,  besides  being 
decidedly  subnormal  in  temperature. 

One  by  one  the  shipwrecked  victims  strug- 


ioo  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

gled  to  us  and  were  passed  on  up  to  the  shore. 
Three  were  landed  in  this  way,  but  the  fourth 
failed  to  make  it.  I  could  see  a  head  bobbing 
up  and  down  a  hundred  feet  from  where  I 
stood,  but  not  coming  nearer  very  rapidly. 

All  at  once  a  particularly  ugly  little  wave 
slapped  me  in  the  face.  When  I  had  shaken 
the  water  from  my  eyes  I  looked  out  to  sea,  but 
the  head  had  disappeared  altogether. 

"That  man  can't  swim.  He's  drowning!" 
Lucile  shouted. 

'Til  get  him,"  I  volunteered  briefly. 

"You'll  be  drowned  yourself,"  Lucile  pro- 
tested. 

"No,  he  won't,"  Bopp  assured  her.  "Monty 
can  swim  like  a  turtle.  I've  often  seen  him  in 
the  tank  at  the  Athletic  Club." 

I  disengaged  my  hand  from  Kent,  who  was 
next  to  me  in  the  line,  and  struck  out  for  the 
spot  where  I  had  last  seen  the  head.  I  am  not 
a  spectacular  swimmer,  but  on  account  of  my 
buoyancy  I  can  keep  up  easily.  So  I  take  no 
credit  for  starting  out  after  the  fourth  sur- 
vivor. I  was  sure  of  getting  back. 

Fortunately  I  was  in  time.     By  a  freak  of 


ALONG  CAME  ROSALIND       101 

luck  the  body  rose  to  the  surface  just  in  front 
of  me  and  I  grabbed  it  before  it  could  sink 
again.  It  was  a  woman  and  I  towed  her  easily 
by  her  hair.  In  a  matter  of  five  minutes  I  was 
again  where  I  could  stand.  I  turned  and 
picked  her  up.  She  was  still  insensible. 

It  was  not  until  I  had  almost  reached  shore 
that  I  noticed  anything  peculiar  about  the 
young  woman  who  rested  limply  in  my  arms. 
I  almost  dropped  her  when  I  happened  to  glance 
down  and  discovered  that  she  was  clad  in  the 
silk  tights,  doublet  and  boots  of  Rosalind  in 
"As  You  Like  It." 


CHAPTER  SIX 
LIPTON  S.  CLAIR 


CHAPTER  SIX 

LUCILE'S  gasp  of  astonishment  when  she 
saw  what  I  had  rescued  was  followed  by  an 
exclamation  of  womanly  concern  as  she  no- 
ticed the  unconscious  condition  of  my  fair- 
haired  burden. 

"Is  she  drowned  ?"  she  asked. 

I  shook  my  head  in  answer.  Explanations 
were  not  in  order  from  me;  I  had  less  than  a 
pint  of  wind  left  and  I  had  to  use  it  for  breath- 
ing purposes. 

"Just  swallowed  a  little  too  much  water,  I 
guess,"  explained  one  of  the  men  from  the 
boat.  "She'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  she  gets 
a  cup  of  hot  coffee  in  her." 

"Who  is  she,  Captain  Perkins,  and  why  is 
she  dressed  that  way?"  asked  Lucile,  ignoring 
the  reference  to  coffee. 

"I  dunno  who  she  be,"  said  the  captain. 
"She  come  aboard  at  Buena  Vista  and  said  she 

was  going  to  Fair  View." 

105 


io6  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Dressed  like  that?" 

"No,  sir,  she  was  dressed  swell.  When  we 
struck  the  rock  over  yonder  I  told  her  we  might 
have  to  swim  and  she'd  orter  dress  just  as  light 
as  possible.  She  went  into  the  cabin  with  her 
grip  and  when  she  came  out  she  was  like  this, 
and  asked  me  if  I  calculated  that  was  light 
enough.  I  'lowed  it  was,  and  we  didn't  have 
no  time  for  explanations,  because  just  then  we 
broke  in  two." 

We  made  a  rough  stretcher  and  carried  the 
unconscious  girl  to  the  house.  Even  wet  and 
draggled,  she  was  undeniably  beautiful,  and 
there  was  a  soft  line  about  the  mouth  that  gave 
the  lie  to  the  absurd  costume  she  had  on. 
There  was  something  about  the  face  that  I 
racked  my  brains  to  associate  with  a  familiar 
name. 

When  we  had  placed  her  in  an  upstairs  room 
we  left  her  to  Lucile's  care  and  had  a  stag  party 
in  my  bed-chamber.  There  were  now  six  men 
of  us. 

Of  the  newcomers  the  captain  was  a  tall, 
wiry  old  man  with  sharp,  ferret,  black  eyes  and 
a  set  of  whiskers  correctly  trimmed  for  one 


LIPTON  S.  CLAIR  107 

of  the  "natives"  in  "Shore  Acres."  I  after- 
wards found  out  that  he  was  not  born  to  the 
sea,  but  had  been  a  rural  real  estate  agent  most 
of  his  life.  The  steamer  Mary  Bell  had  be- 
come his  property  on  a  foreclosed  mortgage 
and  as  he  couldn't  sell  it  to  any  advantage  he 
had  been  obliged  to  operate  it  himself  as  a  sort 
of  ferry  and  supply  boat  for  various  places  on 
the  lake. 

One  of  the  other  men,  a  green,  lanky  young- 
ster, was  obviously  an  employee  on  the  boat. 
The  other  was  just  as  obviously  a  passenger. 
The  boatmen  were  inclined  to  take  things  philo- 
sophically and  regard  their  escape  as  part  of 
the  day's  work.  The  passenger  was  annoyed 
and  uncomfortable  under  the  indignities  and 
inconveniences  he  had  been  made  to  suffer. 
He  was  not  a  fat  man,  but  he  had  a  build  simi- 
lar to  mine  before  I  started  fasting.  We  like 
our  comforts,  we  men  of  curves,  and  going 
without  them  makes  us  peeved. 

I  offered  the  passenger  a  suit  of  my  clothes. 
"You're  about  my  build,"  I  suggested. 

He  looked  at  me  with  disfavor  as  if  to  say, 
"I  hope  not,"  but  accepted  just  the  same. 


io8  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

I  told  the  captain  and  the  other  man  I  would 
outfit  them  with  some  of  Mr.  Green's  old 
clothes.  I  rummaged  the  closets,  but  all  I 
could  find  was  a  slightly  moth-eaten  suit  of 
evening  clothes  and  a  red  and  white  blazer.  I 
had  never  suspected  Mr.  Green  of  owning  any- 
thing as  frivolous  as  that. 

The  captain  possessed  himself  of  the  even- 
ing clothes  and  while  he  was  putting  them  on 
I  asked  what  had  happened. 

"I  didn't  have  no  business  putting  out,"  he 
replied,  "but  that  good-looking  girl  there 
seemed  in  an  awful  sweat  to  get  to  Fair  View, 
and  old  as  I  be,  I  let  her  hornswoggle  me.  My 
biler  were  not  in  first-class  shape,  in  fact  I 
may  say  that  some  of  her  flues  was  constructed 
on  the  general  principle  of  a  doughnut,  which 
is  more  hole  than  anything  else.  Jim,  here,  my 
engineer,  ain't  a  regular  engineer,  being  as 
how  he  learned  by  correspondence,  but  I  hired 
him  because  he's  one  of  the  best  cooks  in 
the  State.  He  must  have  done  something 
wrong — " 

The  other  man  tried  to  interrupt. 

"I  know,"  the  captain  brushed  him  verbally 


LIPTON  S.  CLAIR  109 

one  side,  "but  you  must  have  done  something. 
Anyhow  we  plumb  lost  our  steam  completely. 
Drowned  the  fires  too.  Afore  we  could  do 
anything  we  straddled  the  rocks  out  here  and 
you  know  the  rest.  Now  if  you  want  a  rat- 
tling good  cup  of  coffee  and  some  bacon  and 
eggs  just  turn  Jim  loose  in  the  kitchen  even 
with  them  star  spangled  clothes  on  and  set  back 
with  a  napkin  tucked  under  your  chin." 

I  looked  at  Bopp  and  Bopp  looked  at  Kent, 
who  grinned. 

"There  ain't  any  coffee,"  he  announced,  "and 
there  ain't  any  bacon  and  eggs." 

"Well,  anything  will  do,  even  tea." 

"There  ain't  anything." 

"What  ?"  The  passenger  was  on  his  feet  in 
an  instant.  "Nothing  to  eat?" 

"Not  a  thing." 

"Good  heavens,"  he  raved,  "we'll  all  starve. 
I  am  positively  faint  with  hunger  now.  What 
shall  I  do?"  ' 

"Why  don't  you  try;  fainting?"  suggested 
Bopp  amiably. 

"Besides  I  have  an  important  engagement  in 
Fair  View,"  continued  the  passenger.  "A 


no  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

friend  of  mine  wired  me  that  he  was  going  to 
be  married  there  this  morning  and  I  must  pre- 
vent him." 

"Prevent  him?"  I  said  enquiringly. 

"Yes,  marriage  as  an  institution  may  be  all 
right  for  the  average  intellect,  but  a  man  like 
Ned  Blaney  must  not  tie  his  genius  down  to 
the  height  attainable  by  a  woman." 

"Ned  Blaney,"  I  repeated.  "That  telegram 
must  have  been  for  him." 

"Is  there  a  telephone?"  enquired  the  passen- 
ger. 

"There  is." 

We  escorted  him  to  it  in  a  body. 

Over  the  wire  he  asked  for  the  best  hotel  in 
Fair  View.  That  was  a  cinch  for  the  operator. 
In  New  York  it  might  have  been  harder. 

"Hello." 


'Is  Mr.  N.  Blaney  registered  there  ?' 


"Thank  you.     Will  you  see  if  he  is  in  his 
room  ?" 


'Just  gone  out  ?    When  he  comes  in  will  you 


LIPTON  S.  CLAIR  in 

please  tell  him  to  call  up — "  He  turned  to  us. 
"What  is  the  number  of  this  telephone?" 

"Tell  him  to  call  up  Green's  Island,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Hello,  tell  Mr.  Blaney  to  call  up  Green's 
Island  and  ask  for  Mr.  Lipton  S.  Clair.  Good- 
bye." 

After  he  had  hung  up  the  receiver  there  was 
silence  for  a  few  moments,  then  Bopp,  in  a 
tone  of  repressed  emotion  enquired,  "May  I 
ask  if  you  are  Mr.  Lipton  S.  Clair?" 

"Yes." 

"The  famous  novelist  and  magazine 
writer?" 

"I'd  hardly  say  that,  although  I  suppose  my 
work  is  more  or  less  widely  known." 

"And  you,"  continued  Bopp,  checking  off  on 
his  fingers,  "feel  faint  from  hunger  and  think 
that  you  will  starve  to  death  if  you  don't  get 
food?" 

"Is  there  anything  strange  in  that?" 

Bopp  said  nothing,  but  picked  up  a  magazine 
which  Lucile  had  left  opened  face  downward 
on  the  table,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Clair.  He 
looked  at  it  for  a  moment  and  then  smiled. 


H2  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"I  remember  when  I  wrote  this.  It  was 
over  a  year  ago.  It's  a  bully  theory,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Didn't  you  ever  try  it?" 

"Why,  no.  I've  never  had  time.  I've  al- 
ways wanted  to  meet  someone  who  had  made 
the  experiment  to  see  if  I  was  right." 

"You  have  met  them,"  I  thundered  in  the 
tones  of  a  judge,  "and  you  need  not  ask  about 
the  result  of  the  experiment,  because  you  are 
going  to  try  it  yourself." 

A  burst  of  applause  greeted  me  from  Bopp. 

"  'Eating  three  meals  a  day  is  a  habit,'  "  I 
quoted.  "  'We  have  made  tyrants  of  our 
stomachs.  They  demand  to  be  fed  every  so 
often,  and  if  we  answer  that  demand  we  are 
slaves.' ' 

Lipton  S.  Clair  groaned. 

I  explained  how  we  had  sent  our  supplies 
and  cook  away  so  that  we  should  not  be 
tempted. 

"And  when  do  you  expect  to  receive  more 
supplies?"  he  enquired. 

"You  were  on  the  boat  which  was  bringing 
the  groceries,"  I  informed  him. 

"Then  they  are  out  there  in  the  lake  ?" 


LIPTON  S.  CLAIR  113 

I  nodded. 

He  grabbed  a  hat  (mine,  I  discovered  after 
it  had  blown  into  a  mud-puddle),  and  rushed 
out. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Kent  yelled. 

"To  save  some  of  those  groceries,"  said  the 
distinguished  author. 

This  was  such  a  wonderful  idea  that  we  all 
followed  him,  Kent,  more  thoughtful  than  the 
rest,  pausing  to  get  a  clothes  line  from  the  shed. 

It  was  still  too  rough  to  go  out  to  where  the 
Mary  Bell  had  gone  down  even  if  we  had  pos- 
sessed a  boat,  but  boxes  and  crates  of  gro- 
ceries, fruits  and  vegetables  were  still  stream- 
ing past  the  leeward  point  of  the  cove. 

We  spent  two  hours  trying  to  lasso  these 
packages.  Only  one  throw  netted  us  anything 
and  when  we  had  opened  the  case  we  towed  in, 
we  found  three  dozen  boxes  of  wet  matches. 

After  the  last  crate  had  bobbed  serenely  by, 
nodding  us  a  friendly  farewell,  we  sighed  and 
returned  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
FIVE  FRIDAYS 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

"How  soon  can  I  get  away?"  Clair  asked 
Captain  Perkins  as  we  straggled  up  the  path. 

"That  sea  out  there,"  mused  the  captain, 
"don't  look  like  it  had  any  intention  of  quitting 
for  a  couple  of  days  anyhow." 

"Then  what  can  I  do?" 

"Jest  set." 

"Stay  here?" 

"You  guessed  it." 

Clair  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then 
he  voiced  his  thoughts  thus :  "I  believe  I  can 
make  copy  out  of  this  experience.  I'll  be  a 
second  Robinson  Crusoe." 

"  'Pears  to  me,"  debated  the  captain,  "that 
you  got  an  awful  lot  of  society  for  a  Robinson 
Crusoe.  Seems  like  I  recollect  this  fellow 
Crusoe  had  only  one  nigger  to  wait  on  him." 

"His  man,  Friday,"  interpolated  Bopp. 

"That's  the  one.     If  you  don't  count  the 
117 


ii8  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

women  and  the  dog  there's  six  human  souls  on 
this  island." 

"That  won't  make  any  difference."  I  came 
to  the  rescue.  "Every  first-class  'Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin'  show  nowadays  has  two  Topsys  and  two 
little  Evas  at  least.  We'll  have  one  Robinson 
Crusoe  and  five  Fridays." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  assented  Clair,  enthusi- 
astically following  up  the  scheme  with  details. 
"I'll  get  a  bell  and  whenever  I  want  anything 
I'll  ring  for  you." 

"Fine,"  agreed  Bopp,  who  began  to  see  pos- 
sibilities in  the  scheme.  "We'll  get  you  a  lot 
of  musical  bells  so  that  the  ringing  won't  annoy 
us  any  if  you  keep  it  up  for  some  time." 

"Maybe  I  could  rig  up  an  electric  chime," 
Kent  suggested  with  an  eye  to  mechanical  de- 
tails of  which  he  alone  was  master.  "We'd 
have  to  each  have  a  number  and  only  answer 
our  own  note  on  the  chime.  For  instance,  'do' 
would  call  for  the  gink  who  was  Friday  No.  I ; 
that  would  be  the  captain  here." 

"Let  me  be  Friday  the  thirteenth,"  Bopp 
continued,  "and  Jim,  the  galley  mechanic,  can 
be  Black  Friday.  Kent,  you're  Good  Friday — 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  119 

you  get  a  hot  cross  bun.  What  shall  I  baptize 
you,  Monty?  I  can't  think  of  any  more  Fri- 
days." 

"Let  me  be  Ash  Wednesday.  I  don't  care 
much  for  fish  anyway." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  house. 

Lucile  greeted  us  downstairs  in  the  living- 
room. 

"Miss  Dunmore  is  waiting  for  you." 

I  looked  around  to  see  whom  she  was  ad- 
dressing. 

"I  mean  you,  Mr.  Blainey." 

"Who  is  Miss  Dunmore?" 

"The  lady  whose  life  you  saved.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  didn't  recognize  her  with 
those — things  on?" 

"I  assure  you  that  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean." 

"That's  right,"  said  Bopp.  "No  matter 
what  you  say,  we'll  all  of  us  agree  that  it's  true. 
We  men  must  stick  together.  Monty  never 
saw  the  lady  before." 

This  was  especially  despicable  on  the  part  of 
Bopp,  as  he  knew  as  well  as  I  did  that  the  tele- 


120  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

gram  had  been  for  the  other  Blaney  whom 
Clair  had  spoken  of. 

"I  certainly  never  did." 

"How  about  this,  then?"  enquired  Lucile 
sweetly,  handing  me  a  damp  newspaper  clip- 
ping. "She  had  that  in  her  hand  all  the  time." 

I  took  the  paper  gingerly  and  looked  at  it  in 
amazement.  It  was  my  own  criticism  of  a 
production  of  "As  You  Like  It,"  which  had 
been  staged  the  week  before.  One  paragraph 
was  marked  with  a  blue  pencil  and  read  as  fol- 
lows: 

"The  fashionable  audience  which  assembled 
to  see  Miss  Langland  as  Rosalind  was  obvi- 
ously disappointed  when  the  management  an- 
nounced that  Miss  Langland  was  indisposed 
and  that  her  understudy  would  play  the  part. 
Before  the  first  act  was  over,  however,  the  dis- 
criminating ones  in  front  knew  that  they  had 
been  present  at  the  birth  of  a  new  star.  The 
management  need  never  again  offer  excuses 
for  presenting  Miss  Vida  Dunmore  as  Rosa- 
lind. The  public  had  never  dreamed  that 
Rosalind  could  be  as  physically  perfect  as  Miss 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  121 

Dunmore  made  us  see  her.  Shakespeare  could 
never  have  written  the  part  had  he  seen  Miss 
Dunmore's  figure.  He  would  have  known 
that  Rosalind  in  tights  could  not  for  an  instant 
deceive  Orlando  as  to  her  sex.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  say  more  than  that  the  part  and  the  boots 
have  never  been  more  perfectly  filled.  Miss 
Dunmore  comes  from  a  famous  theatrical  fam- 
ily and  neither  her  Cousin  Ethel  nor  her  Uncle 
Jack  need  fear  that  the  family  laurels  will  fade 
in  Miss  Dunmore's  possession.  Her  voice  has 
the  soft  note  of  the  thrush  which  seems  too 
sweet  to  be  heard  by  an  entire  audience." 

I  had  written  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  over 
a  perfect  bit  of  artistry.  I  take  pride  in  my 
work  and  like  to  praise  the  thing  well  done  as 
well  as  censure  lack  of  adroitness.  Taken 
away  from  the  context  of  the  review,  however, 
the  paragraph  did  sound  a  trifle  eulogistic. 

"He  read  the  clipping,"  said  Bopp,  "then 
sank  into  a  chair  by  the  club  window  and  or- 
dered brandy  and  soda.  He  might  just  as  well 
have  ordered  ham  and  eggs,  which  are  more 
nourishing." 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  up  and  see  her?" 


122  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

urged  Lucile.  "She  is  conscious  now  and  she 
seemed  so  pleased  when  I  told  her  you  were 
here.  I  didn't  tell  her  that  you  were  the  one 
who  rescued  her.  I  thought  she  would  prefer 
to  hear  that  from  your  own  lips." 

If  I  had  known  as  much  then  as  I  do  now 
about  girl  psychology,  I  could  have  read  jeal- 
ousy into  every  word  Lucile  spoke  and  it  would 
have  comforted  me  a  lot.  As  it  was,  I  let  her 
drive  me  upstairs  and  into  the  room  occupied 
by  Miss  Dunmore. 

I  entered  alone.  Dressed  in  one  of  Lucile's 
negligees  she  was  propped  up  in  bed.  My  dra- 
matic criticism  was  right.  She  was  pretty. 
There  was  a  veil  of  charm  about  her  such  as 
one  expects  to  find  around  a  convent-bred  girl 
who  knows  nothing  of  the  world.  At  first  I 
was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it. 

She  looked  at  me  enquiringly. 

"Did  you  wish  to  see  me?"  I  asked. 

"You  are  Mr.  Green?"  she  hesitated. 
"No?  I  have  seen  no  one  except  the  lady  and 
I  didn't  understand  whether  she  said  Miss  or 
Mrs." 

Her  voice  lost  none  of  its  quality  through 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  123 

not  being  heard  over  the  footlights.  It  vi- 
brated like  the  "G"  string  on  a  violin. 

"Miss  Green  it  is,"  I  informed  her.  "She 
said  you  wanted  to  see  me.  I'm  Mr.  Blarney." 

"Not  the  playwright?" 

"No,  the  dramatic  critic." 

"I  knew  you  didn't  look  like  Ned  Blaney. 
You  see,  I'm  engaged  to  him  and  I  ought  to 
know  what  he  looks  like  unless  I'm  delirious. 
What  dramatic  critic  are  you?" 

"I'm  the  only  one  who  is  not  the  author  of 
an  unproduced  play." 

"I'm  sorry  you're  a  critic.  I  don't  like 
critics,  except  one.  I  had  a  clipping  that  he 
wrote  about  me  that  was  the  one  thing  that  I 
saved  from  the  wreck.  I'd  show  it  to  you,  but 
Miss  Green  borrowed  it." 

"This  is  it."  I  handed  her  the  water  soaked 
fragment  of  paper. 

"Did  you  read  it?"  she  exclaimed  with  girl- 
ish enthusiasm.  "Isn't  he  a  dear?" 

"Thank  you,"  I  murmured. 

"Are  you  that  dramatic  critic?"  she  de- 
manded, sitting  bolt  upright  in  bed  and  holding 
out  her  hands  to  me. 


124  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

My  impulse  was  to  take  her  in  my  arms  just 
as  anyone  would  pick  up  a  child,  but  I  knew 
she  did  not  intend  anything  like  that,  so  I  took 
both  her  hands  instead. 

Just  at  that  moment  someone  rapped  and 
Miss  Dunmore  said,  "Come  in." 

Lucile  entered,  saw  our  handclasp,  blushed 
and  stammered,  "I  didn't  mean  to  intrude." 

"Intrude?  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  chattered  the 
other.  "I  want  to  thank  you  for  sending  this 
adorable  man  up  to  me.  I  think  I've  been  in 
love  with  him  ever  since  he  wrote  that  article 
in  the  paper  about  me  last  week." 

Of  course  she  meant  as  much  by  that  as  you 
mean  when  you  say  that  you  just  love  ice-cream 
soda  or  buckwheat  pancakes  with  sausage,  or 
whatever  it  is  that  you  do  just  love,  but  to 
Lucile  it  verified  all  that  she  had  suspected. 
With  one  scornful  glance  at  me  she  left  the 
room  with  a  murmured  excuse  about  finding 
some  clothing  for  Miss  Dunmore  to  put  on. 

That  look  from  Lucile  would  have  spoiled 
for  me  the  brightest  day  that  ever  was  minted, 
but  the  young  lady  had  not  noticed  it. 

"I  wonder  why  she  didn't  stay,"  she  mused. 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  125 

"I'm  afraid  she  doesn't  like  me.  I  wonder  if 
it  is  on  account  of  the  clothes  I  wore.  It  was 
just  an  accident  that  I  had  them  in  my  grip. 
Ned — that's  my  fiance,  you  know — thought  I 
looked  well  in  that  costume,  so  I  was  always 
going  to  keep  it,  even  after  I  was  an  old  mar- 
ried woman  with  ten  children.  I  wonder  if 
the  water  will  hurt  it  ?" 

I  told  her  I  thought  it  would  be  all  right 
when  it  was  dried. 

"The  captain  said  my  tailored  skirt  was  too 
heavy  to  swim  in,  and  told  me  to  take  it  off. 
I  did — and  put  my  costume  on  instead.  Was 
it  too  dreadful?" 

The  naivete  of  this  youngster  was  beyond 
belief.  In  this  day  when  so  many  hammer 
throwers,  mostly  women,  are  writing  novels  of 
the  stage  in  which  the  actresses  are  always  de- 
picted as  all  that  they  should  not  be,  it  may  be 
difficult  to  convince  the  reading  public  that 
there  are  girls  in  the  profession  who  are  as 
ignorant  of  viciousness  as  a  farmer's  daugh- 
ter. This  is  more  apt  to  be  true,  as  in  Miss 
Dunmore's  case,  of  the  younger  generation  of  a 
great  theatrical  family.  A  girl  born  to  the 


126  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

footlights  thinks  nothing  of  the  unconvention- 
alities  which  charm  and  shock  the  newcomer. 
To  her,  they  are  the  accepted  thing;  it  is  the 
conventions  of  life  that  appear  strange.  With 
the  first-class  artistic  connections  which  were 
her  heritage,  Miss  Dunmore  had  an  assured 
position  in  the  theatrical  world  as  soon  as  she 
entered  it  and  so  was  not  at  the  mercy  of  the 
managers  and  agents  who  prey  on  the  am- 
bitious young  girls  beginning  in  the  profession 
and  convince  them  that  without  their  aid  ad- 
vancement is  impossible.  It  may  be  that  from 
this  you  can  understand  why  Vida  Dunmore 
was  as  sweet  and  girlish  in  heart  and  soul  as 
you  would  expect  your  sister  or  daughter  to  be. 

Soon  Kent  came  up  with  a  bundle  of  clothes 
for  Miss  Dunmore  from  Miss  Green,  and 
promising  to  wait  for  her  downstairs  I  excused 
myself  and  went  in  search  of  Lucile. 

I  found  Captain  Perkins  and  Jim,  a  nonde- 
script picture  in  the  evening  clothes  and  blazer 
suit,  wandering  ill  at  ease  about  the  living- 
room.  I  asked  for  Miss  Green. 

"She  went  out  with  that  other  young  man," 
said  the  captain.  "She  said  she  was  going  to 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  127 

look  for  her  mother."  I  had  almost  forgotten 
the  missing  Mrs.  Green.  I  was  about  to  start 
out  searching  again  when  I  remembered  my 
promise  to  Miss  Dunmore. 

"And  where  is  Mr.  Clair?"  I  asked. 

"I  seen  him  out  in  the  yard  looking  for  wal- 
nuts under  them  hard  maple  trees,"  volunteered 
Jim.  "I  didn't  tell  him  they  weren't  a  nut- 
bearing  tree  on  this  island.  What's  the  use? 
It  ain't  nutting  time  yet  nohow." 

Miss  Dunmore  came  downstairs  in  a  dress 
of  Lucile's,  or  rather  a  blouse  and  skirt  of  the 
sailor-suit  order.  She  seemed  very  little  ruf- 
fled by  her  adventure  on  the  high  seas. 

"Where  is  Miss  Green?"  she  asked,  looking 
around.  "I  want  to  thank  her  for  her  kind- 
ness." 

"She  is  out  searching  for  her  mother." 
That  sounded  like  a  foolish  statement,  so  I 
qualified  it.  "Her  mother  disappeared  last 
night  during  the  storm." 

"Oh !"  Miss  Dunmore  did  not  seem  partic- 
ularly impressed.  "I  don't  see  how  any  one 
could  get  lost  on  a  little  island  like  this." 

"That's  where  the  mystery  comes  in.     There 


128  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

are  only  about  half  a  dozen  places  she  could 
be  and  we've  looked  in  all  of  them." 

"I  had  a  brother  who  walked  in  his  sleep," 
said  Captain  Perkins,  following  up  a  train  of 
thought  suggested  by  Mrs.  Green's  disappear- 
ance. "Do  you  want  to  hear  the  story  about 
the  funny  place  where  the  zebra  bit  him?" 

"A  little  later,"  I  suggested  hastily.  "Just 
now  we  all  ought  to  scatter  and  help  look  for 
Mrs.  Green." 

"How  was  she  dressed?"  Captain  Perkins 
enquired. 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  not  sure  whether  she 
was  dressed  at  all  or  not — that  is — she  prob- 
ably had  on  a  kimono  or  something,  but  I  don't 
think  she  had  on  regular  skirts  and  things." 

"We  might  take  a  stroll  along  the  beach," 
suggested  Jim,  whom  I  suspected  of  wanting 
to  display  his  striped  clothing  in  public.  "Pos- 
sibly we  might  find  something  we  could  eat." 

After  the  captain  and  Jim  had  started  out 
Miss  Dunmore  seemed  lost  in  deep  and  bewil- 
dered thought.  I  forebore  to  break  in  on  so 
portentous  a  brain  struggle. 

At  last  she  spoke.     "Where  do  you  suppose 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  129 

the  zebra  did  bite  Captain  Perkins'  brother?" 
"If  you  go  with  him  perhaps  he  will  tell 
you,"  I  said,  with  an  idea  of  doing  my  search- 
ing alone  with  a  weather  eye  constantly  peeled 
for  Lucile  and  Bopp. 

"No,"  she  demurred,  "I  would  much  rather 
go  hunting  with  you.  It  will  be  more  fun." 

Evidently  she  thought  that  hunting  old  ladies 
in  the  underbrush  was  one  of  our  innocent  is- 
land pastimes. 

I  sighed.  We  sallied  forth.  If  I  had 
wanted  to  run  across  Lucile  when  I  was  alone 
I  was  just  as  anxious  to  avoid  her  while  I  was 
in  the  company  of  Miss  Dunmore. 

"Do  we  have  to  find  her  before  lunch?" 
I  explained  painstakingly  the  remote  possibil- 
ity either  of  finding  Mrs.  Green  or  of  having 
any  lunch.  Contrary  to  my  expectations  she 
took  the  information  about  the  lack  of  food 
just  as  cheerfully  as  she  had  everything  else. 
I  don't  believe  it  would  be  possible  to  dampen 
the  spirits  of  that  girl.  Not  that  she  was  un- 
responsive to  another's  distress,  for  I  have 
rarely  met  one  so  sympathetic,  but  she  was  per- 
sistently optimistic. 


130  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"I  don't  mind  going  without  lunch  a  bit," 
she  smiled.  "I  very  seldom  eat  anything  until 
after  the  show  at  night  anyway.  Only  there 
won't  be  any  show  to-night  to  eat  after,  will 
there?  That  will  seem  funny.  I've  always 
been  in  shows  ever  since  I  was  a  kid,  except  a 
few  weeks  in  the  middle  of  summer,  and  then 
generally  I  was  rehearsing." 

She  laughed  gaily. 

"But  I  love  it.  I  wonder  how  it  will  seem 
after  I  am  married  to  Ned.  About  eight-fif- 
teen every  night  I  suppose  I'll  be  straining  my 
ears  for  some  invisible  orchestra  to  pound  out 
an  overture.  That  always  thrills  me  and  puts 
me  on  my  toes.  When  the  overture  begins,  it's 
like  kicking  aside  a  plank  that  connects  you 
with  the  real  world.  You're  committed  to  an- 
other life — a  three  hour  existence  where  the 
sunlight  is  turned  off  and  on  by  a  little  man  up 
on  a  bridge,  and  where  the  green  grass  and  the 
flowers  smell  only  of  musty  paint,  overheated 
by  electricity.  I  wonder  where  I  can  find 
something  in  real  life,  in  your  world,  that  will 
smell  like  scenery.  I  doubt  whether  I  can  get 
along  without  it." 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  131 

She  had  carried  on  this  monologue  while  we 
walked  along  the  shore.  When  I  had  sug- 
gested that  we  search  inland  she  had  very  prop- 
erly objected  on  the  grounds  that  she  was  apt 
to  get  her  feet  wet.  It  had  stopped  raining 
temporarily,  so  that  the  beach  was  fairly  dry, 
although  a  .trifle  windy  and  very  noisy  on  ac- 
count of  the  breaking  of  the  waves  on  the  rocks 
just  off  the  shore. 

Vida  chattered  away  with  all  the  heedless 
gaiety  of  a  child  who  knows  that  someone  is 
going  to  provide  the  next  meal.  She  told  me 
at  length  about  her  fiance.  That  took  a  lot  of 
the  romance  out  of  our  walk.  Not  that  I  was 
falling  in  love  with  Vida.  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
But  it  was  too  bad  as  long  as  I  had  lost  favor 
with  Lucile  on  her  account,  to  have  her  tell  me 
about  her  love  affair  with  someone  else.  I 
have  since  reasoned  that  she  regarded  me  as 
being  old  enough  to  be  her  father  or  her  Uncle 
Jack,  and  treated  me  accordingly.  Nothing 
bores  a  man,  I  find,  so  much  as  girlish  confi- 
dences about  some  other  male  being  who  is  ap- 
parently perfect. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  being  all  alone  with  you 


132  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

on  this  island,"  she  confided,  "if  you  were  only 
Jack." 

"Jack?    Who  is  Jack?" 

"I  mean  Ned,"  she  explained.  "I  was  going 
to  marry  Jack,  but  Ned  wouldn't  have  it.  We 
wouldn't  care  much  about  food,  even,"  she 
went  on.  "Ned  would  find  something  for  me. 
He's  dreadfully  ingenious.  That  comes  from 
writing  plays,  I  guess.  One  has  to  be  clever 
to  think  out  plots  for  plays,  don't  you  think?" 

"Not  most  of  them."  I  lapsed  into  my  crit- 
ical manner.  "Not  as  clever  as  you  have  to  be 
to  sell  them." 

"He  wrote  a  play  once  about  two  people  on 
a  desert  island."  Vida's  eye  kindled  as  she 
recollected  it.  "There  was  a  bully  part  for  the 
girl  in  it.  They  found  bananas  and  cocoanuts 
to  eat  and  some  kind  of  birds'  eggs." 

"In  plays  and  stories  dealing  with  castaways 
on  an  island,"  I  explained,  "the  scene  is  always 
conveniently  located  on  a  tropical  island  where 
all  sorts  of  food  products  grow  wild.  May  I 
ask  if  in  Mr.  Blaney's  play  there  was  any  treas- 
ure buried  on  the  island  ?" 

".Yes,"  she  assented. 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  133 

"And  were  they  attacked  by  savages  armed 
with  poisoned  darts  ?" 

"Oh,  you've  read  his  play!" 

"No,  but  I  know  just  what  ought  to  be  in 
every  castaway  story.  This  island  that  we  are 
on,  you  see,  is  quite  different.  Nothing  more 
nourishing  than  spruce-gum  ever  grows  here 
and  there  isn't  a  native  with  a  poisoned  dart 
within  a  thousand  miles,  unless  you  count 
Lucile." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

I  did  not  answer.  An  idea  had  germinated 
from  something  she  had  said.  There  was  a 
natural  food  resource  on  the  island.  I  might 
be  able  to  develop  it  quietly  by  myself  and  then 
if  it  was  successful,  confer  it,  as  a  boon,  on  the 
entire  community. 

When  we  were  about  two-thirds  of  the  way 
around  the  island  and  approximately  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  home,  a  sharp  stinging  patter  of 
raindrops  drove  us  to  shelter.  There  was  a 
small  lattice  summer-house  on  a  high  part  of 
the  island  overlooking  the  lake  nearby,  and  we 
hastened  toward  it.  In  our  path,  between  the 
sandy  beach  and  the  higher  bank,  was  a  shal- 


134  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

low  strip  of  water  which  had  been  left  there 
by  the  highest  waves  of  the  night  before  and 
had  been  augmented  by  the  rain.  Vida  looked 
in  dismay  from  her  white  shoes  to  the  muddy 
water. 

"I  never  can  cross  it,"  she  wailed.  "These 
are  Miss  Green's  shoes  and  I  must  not  ruin 
them." 

"We've  got  to  get  under  cover,"  I  argued. 

"You  could  carry  me  across,"  she  suggested 
practically;  "that  is,  if  you  can  lift  me." 

"I  carried  you  further  than  that  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Were  you  the  brave  man  who  risked  his 
life  for  me?"  she  exclaimed  impulsively,  then 
added  with  naive  conceit,  "I  know  Ned  can 
never  thank  you  enough.  Just  pick  me  up  in 
your  big  strong  arms  and  put  me  down  the 
minute  we  get  across." 

So  she  gathered  her  skirts  carefully  about 
her  and  I  picked  her  up  easily  and  splashed 
through  the  puddle.  Then  just  because  she  in- 
sisted upon  being  put  down  immediately  I  car- 
ried her  on  further  and  laughing  and  strug- 
gling we  entered  the  summer-house. 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  135 

Lucile  and  Bopp  were  there. 

I  stood  a  moment  in  stupefied  silence.  My 
luck  would  bring  tears  to  an  oculist's  advertise- 
ment. I  put  Vida  down. 

"It  started  to  rain,"  I  stammered,  "and  we 
had  to  hunt  up  shelter.  Miss  Dunmore  was  so 
afraid  of  spoiling  your  clothes." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Lucile  sweetly;  "I 
don't  mind  their  being  wrinkled  a  bit.  I'm 
going  to  have  that  suit  pressed  anyway." 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  I  explained,  after  the 
fashion  of  any  man  floundering  in  the  net  of  a 
woman's  sarcasm.  "I  only  meant  she  didn't 
want  the  rain  to  spoil  them." 

"Why,  that's  what  I  meant,  too,"  responded 
Lucile,  in  wide  eyed  innocence.  "What  else 
could  you  have  thought  I  meant  ?" 

I  blushed  and  held  my  tongue. 

"I  do  not  suppose  you  have  anything  favor- 
able to  report  about  mother  ?" 

"No,"  I  rejoined  shortly. 

"Nor  we,"  sighed  Lucile. 

"Nothing  could  have  happened  to  her," 
cheered  Vida.  "We'll  find  her  curled  up  some- 
where fast  asleep." 


136  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

The  picture  of  Mrs.  Green,  dormant  in  a 
hollow  tree,  like  a  squirrel,  made  even  Lucile 
smile. 

"I  don't  believe  you  have  met  Mr.  Bopp  yet," 
said  Lucile.  "At  least  you  were  not  conscious 
when  you  first  saw  each  other." 

"What  name  did  you  say?" 

"Mr.  Bopp,  my  fiance." 

"Your  fiance?"  I  ejaculated. 

"Yes."  Lucile  turned  to  me.  "I  wanted  to 
tell  you  two  the  first  ones.  I  knew  you  would 
appreciate  our  happiness." 

My  mind  refused  to  grasp  this  disaster.  It 
could  not  be,  that  was  all.  I  had  never  seri- 
ously considered  Bopp  as  running  even  a  very 
dangerous  second. 

My  mind  puzzling  over  Lucile's  statement,  I 
heard  Vida's  clear  soft  voice  saying,  "Mr. 
Bopp,  I  am  pleased — why,  aren't  you  called 
'Boppy'?" 

"Boppy?"  repeated  Lucile  curiously. 

"Yes,  don't  you  call  him  that?  All  the  girls 
in  the  'Show  Girl'  company  did.  I  was  in  the 
chorus  then.  We  used  to  regard  him  as  almost 
one  of  the  company,  he  was  around  with  us  so 


FIVE  FRIDAYS  137 

much.  We  had  a  good  time  that  season,"  she 
added  reflectively. 

Lucile  murmured,  "I  should  imagine  so." 

I  presume  Bopp's  stock  sank  about  one  thou- 
sand per  cent.  Vida  did  not  realize  the  dam- 
age she  was  doing  and  prattled  on.  It  meant 
nothing  to  her  that  Bopp  had  been  a  hanger-on 
at  stage  doors.  In  her  world  that  was  the  only 
interesting  place  to  be,  that  is,  if  you  couldn't 
be  before  the  footlights.  The  man  who  went 
around  with  the  company  was  the  natural  sort 
of  male,  the  one  who  didn't,  to  her,  must  have 
seemed  the  freak  of  the  species. 

I  was  glad  to  let  Bopp  be  the  centre  of  atten- 
tion for  the  time  being,  while  I  railed  inwardly 
at  a  fate  which  had  twice  placed  me  in  a  false 
position  that  morning. 

"I  know  you  will  be  happy,"  Vida  was  say- 
ing. "I've  been  engaged  a  good  many  times 
and  I  enjoy  it  more  every  time." 

"You  must  be  terribly  tired,  Monty,"  I  heard 
Lucile  say;  "no  sleep  for  thirty-six  hours  and 
no  food  for  three  days.  I  wish  that  there  were 
something  that  I  could  do  for  you." 

I   listened   in   amazement.     Could   this   be 


138  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

Lucile,  and  was  she  addressing  me  ?  She  was. 
I  puzzled  over  the  gentleness  in  her  tones  and 
the  solicitude  she  was  showing  for  my  welfare. 
I  did  not  hit  upon  the  answer  then,  but  I  have 
since.  She  was  going  to  show  me  what  a  su- 
perior sort  of  person  I  had  lost  in  choosing 
Vida  instead  of  herself.  Now  that  she  was 
committed  to  Bopp  she  did  not  mind  in  the 
least  making  him  suffer.  Sometimes  I  think 
that  women  must  be  an  invention  of  the  devil, 
and  then  again  I  don't  believe  the  devil  would 
be  capable  of  it. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT. 
ENGAGED,  IF • 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

AFTER  awhile  the  rain  let  up  and  we  went 
back  to  the  house  to  see  what  the  others  might 
have  discovered  and  to  lay  some  definite  plan 
of  campaign. 

Vida  elected  to  stay  out  of  doors,  and  I  sug- 
gested that  she  take  on  Mr.  Clair  for  a  walk. 
I  told  her  that  he  was  a  woman  hater  and  thus 
inadvertently  aroused  her  interest. 

"I'll  have  to  make  him  change  his  ideas." 
She  looked  up  at  me  innocently.  "Do  you 
think  I  can  do  it?" 

"Ask  him,"  I  suggested. 

"Meaning  that  you  don't  think  I  can.  I'll 
bet  my  seal  ring  against  yours  that  I  can  make 
him  propose  before  dark.  Mine  is  a  very  curi- 
ous one,  too.  A  Russian  duke  gave  it  to  me. 
I  never  met  him,  but  he  sent  it  to  my  dressing- 
room  with  some  flowers." 

It  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  possible  way  to  gain 
141 


142  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

a  little  solitude  for  reflection  and  I  assented  to 
the  wager. 

"You  don't  intend  to  tell  him,  then,  that  you 
are  engaged  already?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  until  he  proposes.  Of  course, 
I  might  like  him  better  than  I  do  Ned.  Then 
I'd  never  tell  him." 

I  could  see  that  Ned  Blaney  was  going  to 
have  the  time  of  his  life  immediately  after  he 
found  himself  hitched  more  or  less  for  life  to 
this  volatile  young  person.  Vida  was  not  one 
of  those  who  would  pass  by  an  inviting  pasture 
lot  simply  because  she  was  in  harness. 

The  rest  of  us  went  into  the  house.  As  we 
came  in  the  telephone  was  ringing.  Asking 
Lucile's  permission  I  answered  it. 

"Hello." 

"Hello,"  said  a  male  voice  speaking  with 
staccato  sharpness.  "May  I  speak  to  Mr.  Lip- 
ton  S.Clair?" 

I  put  my  hand  over  the  mouth-piece  and 
turned  around.  Lucile  had  gone  upstairs  but 
Bopp  was  gazing  idly  out  of  the  window. 

"Is  Mr.  Clair  still  there  in  the  yard?"  I  asked 
him. 


ENGAGED,  IF 143 

"No.  He  went  off  down  the  beach  with  Miss 
Dunmore." 

"Hello."  I  spoke  again  into  the  telephone. 
"Mr.  Clair  was  here  a  moment  ago  but  he  has 
just  gone  for  a  walk  with  a  young  lady." 

"What?" 

"He  has  just  gone  for  a  walk  with  a  young 
lady." 

"Impossible!"  The  voice  at  the  other  end 
shot  that  emphatically  at  me. 

"It's  so." 

"Clair  is  a  woman-hater." 

"What  if  he  is  ?  This  one  is  going  to  con- 
vert him." 

"Humph."  It  sounded  as  if  the  party  were 
sniffing  in  my  ear.  "She  can't  do  it.  Who  is 
she?" 

"Her  name  is  Miss  Vida  Dunmore." 

"Vida  Dunmore?" 

"That's  what  I  said." 

"Vida  Dunmore  there?" 

"Certainly." 

"Thank  heaven,"  he  ejaculated  fervently. 
"I've  been  waiting  for  hours  for  her  to  get 
here.  How  does  she  come  to  be  there  ?" 


144  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

I  explained  to  the  young  man,  who  proved 
to  be  Ned  Blaney,  as  I  had  already  suspected, 
all  about  the  wreck  of  the  Mary  Bell  and  the 
casting  ashore  of  her  passengers. 

"Thanks  very  much,"  said  Blaney  with  con- 
siderable relief  in  his  voice.  "I'll  come  right 
over  after  her.  Don't  tell  her  that  I  called  up 
and  I  will  surprise  her.  Good-bye." 

He  hung  up  before  I  could  tell  him  that  he 
probably  couldn't  get  any  kind  of  a  boat  to 
come  over  to  the  island,  but  I  judged  that  he 
would  find  that  out  soon  enough  for  himself. 

"Where's  Miss  Green?"  I  asked  Bopp. 

"I  advised  her  to  lie  down  for  a  little  while 
and  rest.  This  search  is  wearing  her  out. 
She  is  leaving  everything  in  my  charge." 

"I  presume  that  congratulations  are  in  or- 
der," I  said,  extending  my  hand  with  as  good 
a  show  of  cordiality  as  I  could  muster.  "I 
do  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Bopp." 

"We're  not  regularly  engaged,"  Bopp  said 
sourly.  "She  has  promised  to  be  mine  if  I 
can  find  her  mother.  That  makes  me  just 
about  as  near  engaged  to  her  as  if  we  had 
never  met." 


ENGAGED,  IF 145 

So  Lucile's  promise  had  a  string  tied  to  it. 
My  heart  leaped  exultantly.  There  was  a 
chance  yet. 

"Let's  have  a  drink  on  the  strength  of  your 
engagement  anyway,"  I  said,  starting  toward 
the  kitchen. 

"Water?"  queried  Bopp,  hoping  against 
hope. 

"Why,  yes." 

"No,  thanks.  My  tummie  is  looking  for 
Mount  Ararat  now."  He  sank  disconsolately 
into  a  seat.  In  a  moment  he  rose  wearily. 
"I've  got  to  start  out  again.  I  promised  Lu- 
cile  I  would  search  while  she  rested." 

Hardly  had  he  left  the  house  when  the  tele- 
phone rang  again.  I  answered  it. 

"Hello." 

"Hello.     Is  that  you,  Mr.  Blainey?    Will 

you   call   Lucile   to   the   telephone?     I   want 
, » 

The  voice  ceased  abruptly. 
"Hello,"  I  called,  "hello,  hello!" 
There  was  no  answer. 
The  voice  I  had  just  been  listening  to  was 
that  of  Mrs.  Green. 


CHAPTER  NINE 
FOUND  BY  'PHONE 


CHAPTER  NINE 

AFTER  awhile  I  got  Central's  attention  and 
demanded  to  be  told  why  I  had  been  cut  off. 

"That  party  called  up  from  a  private  tele- 
phone," said  Central  sweetly.  "She  had  no 
right  to  use  it.  It  is  a  summer  telephone  only 
and  the  instrument  is  to  be  taken  out  next 
week." 

"But  it  was  Mrs.  Green  who  was  talking." 

"It  couldn't  be,"  Central  was  positive.  "You 
are  speaking  from  Mrs.  Green's  residence 
yourself." 

"It    was    Mrs.    Green.     I    recognized   her 


voice." 


"Just  a  minute."  There  was  a  pause,  then, 
"Hello.  That  party  called  up  from  Hunting- 
don's. What  could  Mrs.  Green  be  doing  there 
on  a  stormy  day  like  this  ?" 

I  could  not  explain  to  a  gossipy  telephone 
operator  what  had  really  happened  to  Mrs. 

Green.     I  did  not  know  much  about  it  myself 

149 


150  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

and  the  few  facts  of  her  disappearance  that  I 
was  cognizant  of  would  hardly  sound  well  if 
repeated. 

"Mrs.  Green,"  I  hazarded,  "went  out  walk- 
ing, and  I  suppose  she  stopped  in  at  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon's." 

"Do  you  know,"  asked  Central,  "that  Hunt- 
ingdon's is  on  a  small  island  three  miles  south 
of  where  you  are  and  three  miles  from  the 
mainland  ?  The  walking  is  not  very  good." 

I  felt  as  if  I  had  stepped  off  into  space  from 
a  high  platform.  "Probably — that  is — the 
chances  are — "  I  floundered,  " — the  chances 
are  that  she  decided  to  row  and  the  wind  may 
have  carried  her  out  of  her  way." 

I  finally  persuaded  Central  to  call  up  Hunt- 
ingdon's. I  think  it  was  curiosity  that  made 
her  relent.  I  could  be  sure  that  she  would 
be  listening  to  whatever  might  be  said  by  Mrs. 
Green  and  myself. 

After  a  few  minutes  a  voice  answered  the 
call. 

"Hello." 

"Hello,  Mrs.  Green.     This  is  Mr.  Blainey." 

"Hello,  Mr.  Blainey."     There  was  a  ring  of 


FOUND  BY  'PHONE  151 

ladylike  indignation  in  her  voice.  "Can  you 
explain  to  me,  Mr.  Blainey,  how  I  happened 
to  find  myself  in  a  row-boat  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  lake,  wearing  my  red  silk  dress  and  a 
night-cap  tied  under  one  ear?" 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mrs.  Green,  Central  is  lis- 
tening." 

"I  don't  care.  She  always  does.  She  prob- 
ably wants  to  know  just  as  much  as  I  do.  What 
happened?  Was  there  an  earthquake?  I  re- 
member the  island  was  sort  of  wobbly  and  hard 
to  walk  on." 

"No,  there  wasn't  any  earthquake,"  I  an- 
swered. "We  were  fasting,  you  remember?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  that,  but  I'm  not  any  more. 
The  first  thing  I  did  when  I  landed  was  to 
break  into  this  house  and  cook  myself  a  can 
of  baked  beans.  It's  funny  if  there  wasn't 
any  earthquake.  I  remember  the  floor  of  the 
house  all  running  in  funny  little  waves." 

"I'm  afraid  our  time  must  be  nearly  up,"  I 
suggested  in  the  hope  of  turning  the  conversa- 
tion. "Central  will  cut  us  off." 

"No,  I  won't,"  interposed  a  third  voice,  the 
sweetly  professional  one  of  the  operator. 


152  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Talk  all  you  want  to.  There  ain't  anybody 
waiting  for  the  line." 

"I  suppose  I  must  have  got  into  the  boat 
when  the  earthquake  commenced,"  persisted 
Mrs.  Green,  "but  how  did  I  get  on  the  decol- 
lete red  dress  ?  And  where  did  I  get  the  night- 
cap ?  I  haven't  worn  that  dress  for  ten  years." 

I  told  her  that  we  would  have  to  wait  until 
she  got  home  to  explain  a  number  of  things. 
"Lucile  will  be  very  glad  to  know  that  you  are 
safe,"  I  added  casually  as  if  she  had  just  gone 
over  to  a  neighbor's,  hoping  to  deceive  Cen- 
tral. "She  was  afraid  you  might  get  wet." 

"Did  Lucile  know  I  was  going?"  enquired 
the  startled  Mrs.  Green,  who  apparently  did 
not  catch  on  to  my  acting. 

"No,  not  until  after  you  had  started,"  I  said, 
skirting  the  edge  of  the  truth  neatly.  "She 
will  be  very  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  all  right. 
I'll  tell  her  as  soon  as  she  wakes  up.  She  is 
resting  now." 

"Sleeping?     Now?    What  for?" 

"Why,"  I  explained,  "she  was  up  all  night." 

"What?  And  all  alone  on  that  island  with 
you  two  young  fellows  and  no  chaperone !" 


FOUND  BY  'PHONE  153 

"Oh,  no,"  I  hastened  to  reassure  her  and 
Central.  "Not  alone  with  us.  There  are  a 
lot  of  people  here,  six  or  seven  I  should  say." 

"Holding  a  convention  of  earthquake  suf- 
ferers, I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Green  surmised  caus- 
tically. "What  sort  of  people  are  they?" 

"Oh,  very  nice  people,"  I  answered  promptly. 
"One  of  them  is  a  lady." 

"How  do  you  know  she  is  a  lady?"  enquired 
Mrs.  Green.  "Just  because  she  happened  to 
be  wearing  skirts  when  she  arrived?" 

"Oh,  no,"  I  said  hastily.  How  could  I  tell 
this  elderly  dignified  lady  that  our  feminine 
guest  had  not  worn  skirts  on  her  arrival. 

"Humph."  Mrs.  Green  was  not  particu- 
larly impressed.  "The  sooner  I  get  back  the 
better.  You'll  have  to  send  someone  over 
after  me  because  there  weren't  any  oars  in 
the  boat  I  came  in.  I  wouldn't  go  out  in  a 
rowboat  again  anyway.  Send  a  big  boat  or 
I  won't  leave  here." 

"I'll  send  for  you  just  as  soon  as  I  can."  I 
was  glad  to  have  the  conversation  draw  to  a 
close.  It  had  been  bad  enough  already,  but 
who  could  tell  what  else  might  come  out  if 


154  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

we  kept  on  talking.  "The  storm  ought  to 
quiet  down  soon  now.  Good-bye  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"Wait  a  minute,  I  want  to  ask — " 

I  am  afraid  I  was  guilty  of  rank  discourtesy 
in  hanging  up  the  receiver  before  I  heard  her 
question,  but  I  knew  I  should  be  unable  to  an- 
swer it  anyway,  and  I  had  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  think  what  it  was  all  about. 

First  of  all  Lucile  must  be  told  and  an  end 
put  to  her  anxiety.  I  went  upstairs  and  called, 
"Lucile." 

There  was  no  answer  and  I  stepped  to  the 
door  of  her  room,  which  stood  open.  She  was 
lying  on  her  bed,  dressed,  with  her  head  on 
her  arm  sleeping  the  dead  sleep  of  utter  ex- 
haustion. Nature  demands  her  toll  of  a 
healthy  body  even  in  times  of  utmost  mental 
distress.  She  seemed  very  small  and  childish 
and  her  fingers  curled  adorably,  like  a  baby's. 
I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  waken  her  so  I  tip- 
toed out.  The  news  would  be  just  as  welcome 
when  she  wakened  of  her  own  accord  and  sleep 
would  probably  do  her  more  good  for  the  time 
being. 


FOUND  BY  'PHONE  155 

When  I  came  downstairs  I  saw  Bopp  go 
through  the  yard,  looking  under  every  bush 
and  into  every  gully.  I  went  out  to  tell  him 
that  Mrs.  Green  was  located. 

He  stopped  when  he  saw  me  approaching. 

"I  see  Clair  has  cut  you  out  with  your  ac- 
tress friend,"  he  said.  "I  saw  them  arm  in 
arm  on  the  beach  a  minute  ago.  There's  no 
use  talking,  Monty,  you  can't  seem  to  hold  a 
girl's  attention  long  enough  to  slip  a  ring  on 
her.  Why  don't  you  try  avertising  in  one  of 
those  matrimonial  papers?" 

I  made  no  answer  but  turned  around 
abruptly  and  went  back  to  the  house.  I  don't 
suppose  he  was  particularly  happy,  and  hunger 
and  fatigue  may  have  loosened  his  tongue,  but 
I  was  angry  enough  myself  to  let  him  hunt 
until  the  crack  of  doom  before  I  would  tell  him 
that  Mrs.  Green  was  found. 

When  I  entered  the  house  the  telephone  was 
ringing  again.  I  took  off  the  receiver. 

"Hello,"  I  said. 

"Hello,"  said  a  masculine  voice.  "I  am  a 
newspaper  man,  representing  the  Haniman 
Syndicate.  I  understand  that  you  had  an 


156  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

earthquake  over  there  this  morning,  and  that 
Mrs.  Green,  the  wife  of  the  president  of  the 
First  National  Bank,  made  her  escape  in  an 
aeroplane  dressed  in  a  spangled,  red  ball-gown. 
I  want  to  know  if  I  have  these  facts  absolutely 
correct  before  I — " 

I  carefully  lowered  the  receiver  until  it  hung 
suspended  from  the  wires,  and  tip-toed  away 
from  the  telephone  letting  him  talk  to  the 
empty  air. 

The  story  was  out. 


CHAPTER  TEN 
THE  CLAM  HUNTER 


CHAPTER  TEN 

WHEN  I  went  out,  after  leaving  the  reporter 
holding  the  wire,  so  to  speak,  Tootles  begged 
to  go  with  me  and  I  let  her  out.  Who  am  I  to 
deny  the  pleasures  of  liberty  to  a  fellow  crea- 
ture no  matter  if  her  knowledge  of  language 
is  confined  to  wig-wagging  with  a  short,  stumpy 
tail  ?  From  the  way  she  raced  off  up  the  beach 
and  conducted  imaginary  skirmishes  with 
every  prominent  bush  or  rock  I  inferred  that 
she  was  not  ordinarily  allowed  to  consult  her 
own  wishes  about  staying  indoors. 

Dogs  are  supposed  to  be  faithful  companions 
to  man  in  his  dark  hours,  but  this  one  was  just 
about  as  faithful  and  companionable  as  a 
grasshopper.  In  the  pictures  the  faithful 
hound  puts  his  nose  on  his  bereaved  master's 
lap  looking  up  at  him  with  great  devoted  eyes 
that  mutely  offer  unselfish  and  unquestioning 
love.  Anyone  attempting  that  pose  with 
Tootles  must  first  consult  a  taxidermist. 

159 


160  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

All  of  which  is  by  way  of  saying  that  we 
became  separated  and  lost,  especially  Tootles. 
I  whistled  and  otherwise  implored  the  little 
devil  to  come  to  me.  I  even  mentioned  her  as 
a  "nice  doggie,"  out  loud,  with  a  muttered 
"damn"  beneath  my  breath. 

After  awhile  I  gave  it  up.  It  isn't  dignified 
for  two  hundred  pounds  or  more  of  man  to 
chase  ten  pounds  or  less  of  dog.  I  reflected 
that  she  could  not  have  gone  very  far  and 
would  probably  return  to  the  house  anyway. 
I  only  hoped  that  Lucile  would  sleep  until 
Tootles,  tired  of  hunting  imaginary  prey  in  the 
underbrush,  would  come  home.  Chasing  game 
is  a  futile  pastime  for  Tootles.  If  a  good 
husky  rabbit  ever  met  her  in  a  pasture  lot  and 
said  "Boo"  to  her,  Tootles  would  expire  of 
fright.  I  think  it's  a  shame  the  way  dogs  have 
been  converted  into  costume  accessories  by 
women.  However,  I  do  not  think  it  wise  to 
express  myself  fully  on  this  subject. 

When  I  had  definitely  given  Tootles  up  I 
turned  my  attention  to  the  undeveloped  food 
supply  which  I  had  discovered  earlier  when 
walking  with  Vida.  There  were  hundreds  of 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  161 

fresh  water  clams  on  the  beach  and  it  was 
possible  to  dig  them  in  the  cove  when  the  water 
was  not  particularly  rough.  I  spent  the  after- 
noon wading,  compensated  for  the  cold  dis- 
comfort of  the  performance  by  the  thought 
that,  by  providing  food,  I  would  win  back  a 
large  share  of  the  favor  I  had  lost  with  Lu- 
cile.  Not  that  she  would  admit  that  she 
needed  food.  Not  she.  No  complaint  had 
left  her  lips,  but  I  knew  that  the  sight  of  a 
soda  cracker  would  make  her  break  down  and 
weep  like  a  child.  I  knew  because  I  felt  that 
way  myself. 

Vida  and  Lipton  S.  Clair  strolled  by  while  I 
was  wading. 

"Are  you  still  looking  for  Mrs.  Green?" 
Clair  called  out,  as  I  fished  under  water 
cautiously. 

"No,"  I  replied  shortly,  "I  am  teaching  a 
pet  fish  to  swim." 

"You  look  as  though  you  were  taking  one  of 
those  barefoot  cures." 

"I  didn't  know  you  could  cure  bare  feet," 
supplied  Vida.  "By  the  way,  Mr.  Blainey, 
does  your  ring  come  off  easily  ?" 


162  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"It  would  from  your  hand.  Do  you  wish 
to  wear  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  yet — not  until  I  am  entitled  to. 
You  can  begin  to  work  it  off  though." 

"Did  anyone  call  me  up  on  the  telephone?" 
asked  Mr.  Clair. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Why  didn't  you  call  me?"  he  demanded 
crossly.  "I  haven't  been  far  away." 

The  self-assurance  of  this  man  enraged  me. 
Here  he  was,  an  uninvited  guest,  complaining 
that  he  was  not  paged  as  he  would  have  been 
in  a  hotel.  I  wondered  where  he  got  his  ideas 
of  the  social  relations  of  modern  people.  Who 
could  have  spoiled  him  so  ?  Sometimes  the  adu- 
lation of  women  will  put  an  ego  on  the  bias 
that  way,  but  Clair  was  a  professed  woman- 
hater.  I  only  hope  that  some  day  he  will  write 
a  play  which  it  will  be  my  pleasure  to  review. 

I  explained  in  words  of  one  syllable  that  I 
had  not  called  him  because  I  did  not  know 
where  he  was,  had  a  sore  throat,  was  under 
physician's  orders  not  to  call  anyone,  my 
mother  had  trained  me  not  to  yell  at  strangers, 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  163 

and  besides  I  never  did  any  calling  except  on 
Thursdays. 

Vida  pointed  her  finger  at  me  for  shame  the 
way  children  do  and  led  him  away  before  I 
could  think  of  anything  more. 

"Ned  says,"  she  smiled  at  me  as  they  went 
on  up  the  beach,  "that  heaven  is  a  place  where 
there  are  no  dramatic  critics." 

"You  tell  him  from  me,"  I  retorted,  "that 
he  knows  more  about  heaven  now  than  he  ever 
will  from  actual  experience.  Unless,"  I  added, 
"the  girl  he  is  engaged  to  actually  marries 
him." 

She  waved  her  thanks  and  trotted  on  at  the 
fat  magazine  man's  side.  Yes,  I  said  fat. 
There  was  something  about  him  that  was  an- 
noyingly  fat,  possibly  his  intellect.  In  figure  he 
was  no  more  fat  than  I  am,  but  some  way  his 
avoirdupois  flaunted  itself  flagrantly.  He 
obstructed  an  otherwise  pleasant  landscape, 
and  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  would  not  ad- 
mit that  he  was  fat.  He  thought  he  was 
just  plump.  You  could  tell  by  the  way  that  he 
carried  himself  that  he  thought  he  was  just 


164  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

plump.  Why  don't  fat  people  give  up  and  ad- 
mit it  instead  of  lying  to  themselves  and  their 
friends  ? 

I  disliked  Mr.  Clair  so  thoroughly  and  heart- 
ily for  a  few  minutes  that  I  nearly  forgot  what 
I  was  standing  in  the  lake  for,  but  a  numb- 
ness about  the  ankles  where  my  feet  should 
have  been  attached  if  there  had  been  any  feel- 
ing in  them  reminded  me  to  stir  around  a  bit 
unless  I  wished  to  become  an  angel  mermaid, 
regardless  of  sex.  I  invented  "angel  mer- 
maid" myself.  As  your  own  imagination  will 
tell  you,  they  are  similar  to  hydro-aeroplanes, 
only  safer.  I  gathered  up  my  clams  and  went 
back  to  the  house.  With  criminal  caution  I 
went  in  the  back  way  so  that  no  one  would  see 
what  I  had  brought,  and  built  a  fire  in  the  long 
unused  stove. 

Then  I  opened  the  clams.  The  clam  is 
noted  in  literature  for  his  silence.  I  wish  to 
add  that  he  is  not  only  uncommunicative,  but 
positively  insultingly  unsociable.  He  is  a  stay- 
at-home.  I  never  met  anyone  so  reluctant  to 
come  forth.  In  getting  those  bivalves  to  loosen 
up  I  ruined  two  hatchets,  a  can  opener,  a  thumb 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  ,165 

and  an  already  frazzled  temper.  But  they  did 
come  out  finally.  If  the  clam  is  doggedly  per- 
sistent, put  me  down  as  persistently  dogged. 

I  am  no  cook,  but  I  knew  that  those  clams 
would  never  do  to  be  eaten  in  their  natural 
state,  especially  after  I  had  finished  interview- 
ing them,  so  I  decided  to  give  them  the  star  part 
in  a  bouillon.  The  other  ingredients  were 
plain  water  and  distilled  water.  There  wasn't 
enough  of  the  distilled  water  left,  so  I  filled  it 
up  with  the  common  or  garden  variety.  A  few 
microbes  would  undoubtedly  make  it  more 
nourishing.  Besides,  I  was  anxious  to  pit 
something  against  those  clams.  Give  them  a 
fair  deal  and  I'd  back  them  against  anything 
that  inhabits  the  water,  except  a  submarine. 

Lucile  came  downstairs  while  I  was  in  the 
kitchen,  but  she  did  not  come  out  where  I  was. 
I  heard  her  asking  someone  in  the  living-room, 
"Who  left  the  telephone  off  the  hook?" 

There  was  a  mumbled  reply  in  the  voice  of 
Captain  Perkins  which  I  did  not  catch.  Lucile 
apparently  put  the  receiver  back  in  its  place 
because  presently  the  telephone  bell  rang  and 
she  answered  it. 


166  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"No,"  I  heard  her  say,  "Mr.  Clair  is  not 
here."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "No,  Miss  Dun- 
more  isn't  here  either.  Who  shall  I  say 
called? — Oh,  you  don't  wish  them  to  be  noti- 
fied ?  Very  well."  There  was  a  click  as  of  the 
receiver  being  placed  on  the  hook. 

I  came  in  from  the  kitchen.  Lucile  greeted 
me  pleasantly  enough  when  I  asked  her  how  she 
had  enjoyed  her  nap. 

"I  don't  think  I've  been  asleep,"  she  denied. 
"I  just  rested,  that  was  all." 

I  did  not  tell  her  that  I  did  not  believe  her. 
You  have  noticed  yourself  how  a  person  who 
can  sleep  soundly  through  a  thunderstorm  or  a 
piano-tuners'  convention  will  tell  how  the 
slightest  sound  banishes  their  restless  slumber. 

"Your  mother  called  up,"  I  said  briefly. 

"Called  up?"  Lucile  repeated.  "How  could 
she?" 

No,  she  was  not  any  more  surprised  than 
that. 

"From  Huntingdon's  Island,"  I  explained, 
and  went  on  to  tell  what  I  knew  of  Mrs.  Green's 
experience. 

"She  had  no  right  to  frighten  me  so,"  Lucile 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  167 

exclaimed,  with  the  righteous  indignation  of 
one  whose  sympathies  have  been  wasted. 

Also,  Lucile  selfishly  disregarded  my  suffer- 
ings. Also  those  of  Bopp.  His  emotions,  I 
imagine,  were  chiefly  confined  to  his  digestive 
apparatus,  but  I  suppose  they  must  be  classed 
as  sufferings  just  the  same. 

I  pointed  out  to  Lucile  that  her  mother  had 
been  through  a  tremendous  adventure  and  had 
escaped  only  by  a  miracle. 

"What  possessed  her  to  do  such  a  thing?" 
Lucile  was  as  petulant  as  a  half-awakened 
child. 

"I  had  a  brother  once  who  used  to  walk  in 
his  sleep.  There  was  a  zebra  that — " 

I  interrupted  Captain  Perkins.  "Your 
mother  was  scarcely  responsible,"  I  said. 

"My  brother  was  that  way,"  chimed  in  the 
real  estate  captain.  "You  never  could  tell 
where  you  could  find  him  nights.  But  the  time 
that  the  zebra  bit  him  was  the  curiousest,  I 
allow." 

"The  zebra  bit  him?"  Lucile's  interest  was 
aroused. 

The  captain  settled  himself  to  tell  his  favor- 


i68  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

ite  tale,  but  did  not  get  started  because  Vida 
breezed  in  with  a  rather  shamefaced  Clair  in 
tow. 

She  came  directly  to  me. 

"I'll  take  that  ring,  please,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  really  want  it  ?" 

"Certainly,  I  am  entitled  to  wear  it." 

"Of  course  she  ought  to  have  your  ring," 
urged  Lucile.  "That  one  will  do  until  you  can 
get  her  something  else.  May  I  congratulate 
you,  Miss  Dunmore  ?" 

"Has  Mr.  Blainey  told  you  about  it?"  Vida 
asked,  naturally  surprised  that  a  third  party 
should  take  an  interest  in  a  jesting  wager. 

"He  didn't  need  to."     Lucile  smiled. 

With  Clair  present  I  could  hardly  explain 
that  Miss  Dunmore  had  won  my  ring  because 
she  had  made  him  propose  to  her.  Thus  I  al- 
lowed myself  to  be  misunderstood  once  more. 

I  retired  as  gracefully  as  possible  to  the 
kitchen,  to  be  followed  there  shortly  by  Lipton 
S.  Clair,  who  seemed  to  be  in  an  agitated  frame 
of  mind. 

"May  I  speak  with  you  alone  ?"  he  demanded 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  169 

cautiously,  looking  first  right  and  then  left  like 
a  stage  villain. 

"You  will  never  see  me  more  lonesome  than 
in  your  company,"  I  returned,  stirring  my 
clams. 

"Have  you  ever  been  engaged?"  He  actu- 
ally blushed  as  he  said  it. 

"Why,  yes,"  I  was  inclined  to  be  reminiscent, 
"chronically.  I've  been  engaged  ever  since  I 
was  about  sixteen  years  of  age.  Do  you  care 
to  listen  to  the  history  of  my  romances  ?" 

"No,  no,"  he  reiterated,  "not  now,  not  now." 

"All  right,  all  right."  I  was  not  to  be  out- 
done in  lavishness  of  language.  "Say  no  more 
about  it,  say  no  more  about  it." 

"What  I  want  to  ask,"  he  began  hastily, 
choked  by  emotion  and  one  of  my  collars  which 
was  a  quarter  size  too  small  for  him,  "what  I 
want  to  ask  is,  how  do  you  break  off  an  engage- 
ment?" 

"You  have  me  there,"  I  replied,  putting  more 
wood  in  the  stove.  "I  never  broke  off  an  en- 
gagement in  my  life.  Someone  else  always 
broke  my  engagements  for  me." 


i/o  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"You  mean  you  were  jilted?" 

"That's  a  short,  ugly  word,"  I  mused, 
tempted  to  put  him  in  with  the  clams,  "but 
'  'twill  pass,  aye,  it  will  serve/  ' 

"But  I  am  afraid  I  won't  be  jilted,"  said 
Clair  thoughtfully.  "You  see,  I  am  a  very  de- 
sirable match." 

"We  thank  you  for  the  implied  compliment," 
I  bowed,  and  picked  up  a  piece  of  cord-wood. 

He  went  on  obliviously.  "I  am  a  woman- 
hater.  The  ornamental  sex  has  no  place  in  the 
world  of  a  man  of  genius.  All  my  life  I  have 
escaped,  and  here  on  a  bleak,  inhospitable  island 
where  there  are  only  two  women  I  am  trapped 
by  one  of  them." 

"I  take  it  that  you  are  engaged  to  Miss  Dun- 
more,"  I  hazarded. 

"Practically,"  he  retorted  glumly.  "She 
trapped  me  into  a  sort  of  a  proposal.  I  didn't 
know  what  I  was  saying." 

"And  she  accepted  you  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  he  replied,  "but  there  is  no  hope ; 
she  will.  I  don't  suppose  she  has  met  many 
men  of  culture  among  her  associates,  and  I 
imagine  I  am  a  novelty  to  her." 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  171 

"Man,"  I  said  admiringly,  "you'd  be  a  nov- 
elty to  any  girl." 

'Thank  you,"  said  he  absently.  "But  what 
can  I  do  now  ?" 

"Why,"  I  explained  innocently,  "when  you 
get  on  the  mainland  you  get  a  marriage  license 
and,  unless  you  prefer  a  church  wedding,  I 
would  suggest  that  you  hunt  up  the  justice  of 
the  peace  and  get  it  over  with.  I  don't  believe 
in  long  engagements  myself."  I  was  perfectly 
willing  to  tease  this  pedantic  braggart.  We 
owed  him  something  for  that  fasting  article 
anyway. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  marry  anyone,"  he 
cried.  "I  must  not  sacrifice  my  career  to  ro- 
mance and  sentiment.  I  belong  to  the  world. 
There  must  be  a  way  out." 

"If  you  don't  want  to  marry  Miss  Dunmore, 
why  did  you  arouse  the  spark  of  passion  in  her 
innocent  breast  ?"  I  demanded. 

"I  don't  know."  He  writhed  in  mental  an- 
guish. "I  didn't  dream  that  I  was  even  being 
agreeable  to  her." 

"Some  women  are  more  attracted  by  indif- 
ference than  by  attention,"  I  comforted. 


172  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Others  are  fascinated  by  downright  brute  vio- 
lence." 

"I  suppose  there  must  be  some  charm  about 
me  that  I  did  not  dream  of,"  he  mused  mod- 
estly. "Don't  you  think  she  could  forget  me 
if  she  did  not  see  me  for  a  long  while?" 

"I'm  afraid,"  I  sighed,  "that  having  once 
met  you,  no  girl  could  ever  forget  you." 

"Come,  now,"  he  said  sharply,  trying  to  de- 
tect a  smile  on  my  face ;  "it  isn't  as  bad  as  that. 
If  I  could  get  away  and  write  her  a  letter  saying 
that  I  had  been  taken  down  with  some  illness 
and  could  not,  as  a  dying  man,  hold  her  to  her 
promise,  that  would  solve  the  difficulty." 

"Rather  a  nifty  idea,"  I  commented,  "but,  as 
a  novelist,  you  must  know  that  the  heroine  al- 
ways flies  to  the  bedside  of  the  stricken  hero 
and  nurses  him  back  to  life.  There  is  no  use ; 
Miss  Dunmore  would  not  allow  you  to  die." 

"No,  I  suppose  not."  He  abandoned  this 
scheme  reluctantly.  Another  thought  bright- 
ened him.  "The  getting  away  part  of  it  is  all 
right.  If  I  did  that  I  could  get  put  in  jail  or 
something  like  that  where  she  couldn't  possibly 


THE  CLAM  HUNTER  173 

see  me.  While  I  was  there  I  could  write  an 
article  on  prison  reforms." 

I  heartily  endorsed  this  scheme.  The  idea 
of  seeing  him  in  prison  appealed  to  me  person- 
ally. The  colossal  blindness  of  a  conceited 
fat-head  like  that  trying  to  get  away  from  a 
charming,  sweet,  young  girl  like  Vida,  alien- 
ated him  from  human  consideration. 

He  mused  a  moment.  "I'll  do  it,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "If  I  don't  show  up,  mum's  the 
word." 

"You  can't  get  away,"  I  reminded  him. 
"There's  no  boat." 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  am  the  champion 
swimmer  of  the  Brooklyn  Athletic  Club.  I 
think  I  saw  some  bathing  suits  hanging  up  in 
the  shed.  With  one  of  those  on  it  will  be 
child's  play  to  me." 

Strangely  cheered,  he  let  himself  out  the  back 
way  and  left  me  to  the  silence  of  my  clams.  I 
suppose  I  should  have  restrained  him  by  force, 
but  I  had  no  idea  that  he  really  meant  it 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 
MISS  DUNMORE  IS  CONCERNED 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

I  LEFT  the  clams  to  their  own  devices  for  a 
while  and  went  back  to  the  living-room.  Vida 
was  there  idly  taking  impressions  from  my  seal 
ring  on  some  soft  kneaded  rubber  that  lay  on 
Lucile's  desk.  Lucile  herself  was  not  in  sight. 
The  captain  and  the  best  cook  who  ever  ran  a 
marine  engine  were  sunk  deep  in  the  gloom 
which  surrounds  the  non-reading  man  when 
cut  off  from  his  kind  and  his  employment. 

"Well,"  said  Vida,  when  I  stood  over  her, 
like  an  accusing  judge,  "what  have  I  done  now? 
Shouldn't  I  play  with  this  rubber  this  way?" 

"You  know  what  you've  done,"  I  said 
sternly.  "You  trapped  Lipton  S.  Clair  into 
proposing  to  you." 

"There's  nothing  wrong  about  that,"  Vida 
protested.  "How  do  you  suppose  any  man 
ever  proposes?  You  have  to  trap  them. 
Were  you  under  the  impression  that  adult 
males  went  around  looking  for  a  chance  to  pay 

177 


i;8  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

for  someone  else's  board  and  millinery  and 
hosiery  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  No,  sir, 
the  masculine  mind  is  very  wary.  That's  why 
we  women  have  to  be  so  much  brighter  than 
the  men.  It's  a  case  of  self-preservation." 

"Anyway,  you  scared  the  wits  out  of  Clair." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"He's  afraid  you  meant  it.  He's  going  to 
try  to  swim  to  the  mainland  in  order  to  get 
away." 

"What?     Swim  to  the  mainland?" 

"Yes.  He's  a  woman-hater,  as  you  know, 
and  he's  afraid  to  face  you." 

"Good  heavens!  He  must  not  do  that." 
Vida  was  genuinely  concerned.  "What  can  I 
do  to  prevent  it?" 

"You  might  tell  him  that  you  are  engaged  to 
someone  else.  That  might  reassure  him." 

"I  will."  Vida  got  up  determinedly  and 
went  to  the  door.  It  was  dark  outside  and  she 
turned  back  for  directions.  "Which  way  did 
he  go?" 

"Right  down  to  the  shore,  I  think,"  I  said. 
"He  seemed  a  trifle  dazed?  though,  and  might 
have  wandered," 


MISS  DUNMORE  IS  CONCERNED     179 

"Funny  thing,"  interjected  Captain  Perkins, 
"the  way  a  feller  will  wander  sometimes.  My 
brother,  he  used  to  walk  in  his  sleep.  I  was 
goin'  to  tell  you  where  the  zebra  bit  him  that 
time." 

"Yes,"  said  Vida  eagerly,  "tell  us  where  the 
zebra  bit  him." 

"You'll  have  to  hurry  to  catch  him,"  I  inter- 
rupted, "or  it  will  be  too  late." 

I  literally  pushed  her  out  of  the  door  and 
shut  it  after  her. 

The  telephone  bell  rang. 

"Hello,"  I  answered  it. 

"Hello,  this  is  Blaney.     Is  Clair  there?" 

"No,  he's  not  here  now." 

"Then  let  me  speak  to  Miss  Dunmore, 
please." 

"She  isn't  here  either,"  I  explained. 

"Oh,  they're  out  walking  together  again,  I 
suppose,"  said  my  namesake  sarcastically. 

"No,  not  walking,"  I  said;  "swimming." 

"What?  At  this  time  of  night?"  he  yelled. 
"Not  both  of  them?  Vida  can't  swim." 

"Maybe  he  is  teaching  her  how,"  I  sug- 
gested. I  didn't  know  of  any  reason  why  I 


i8o  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

should  ease  his  mind  anyway.  A  little  jealousy 
would  be  good  for  him. 

"Oh !"  He  took  the  blow  like  a  man.  Then 
I  heard  him  say  faintly,  "Good  bye,"  and  I  hung 
up  the  receiver. 

Lucile  confronted  me  when  I 'turned  around. 
"Do  you  know  where  Tootles  is?" 

I  had  forgotten  about  the  pesky  six-inch 
canine. 

"No,  I  don't  know  where  she  is,"  I  replied, 
with  strict  adherence  to  the  truth.  "Isn't  she 
here  ?"  I  added  guilelessly. 

"No,  and  I'm  dreadfully  worried.  There 
are  so  many  strange  people  in  the  house  that 
some  one  may  have  let  her  out,  not  knowing 
how  careful  we  are  with  her." 

"What  would  happen  if  she  did  get  out?"  I 
questioned,  determined  to  know  the  depth  of 
my  crime. 

"Why,  lots  of  things.  She  might  get  lost 
and  starved  or  get  her  feet  wet  and  have  pneu- 
monia or  a  hawk  might  carry  her  off." 

At  this  moment  the  unspeakable  Bopp  en- 
tered. He  made  a  great  show  of  weariness, 


MISS  DUNMORE  IS  CONCERNED     181 

dragging  his  feet  as  if  they  were  too  heavy  to 
lift. 

"Have  you  seen  her?"  demanded  Lucile. 

"No,"  Bopp  said  wearily.  "I've  tramped  all 
over  the  island  again  and  again.  There's  no 
ravine,  no  gully,  no  bush  that  I  haven't  investi- 
gated. She  must  have  left  the  island." 

"She  can't  swim,"  moaned  Lucile.  "Her  lit- 
tle legs  are  too  short  and  her  fur  would  get  in 
her  eyes." 

"What?"  Bopp  yelled.  "Fur  get  in  her 
eyes  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"Tootles  is  lost,"  I  threw  in  by  way  of  ex- 
planation. 

"Tootles?"  said  Bopp  bewildered.  "I've 
been  looking  for  Mrs.  Green." 

"Oh,  she's  been  found,"  Lucile  explained. 

"When?" 

"Oh,  hours  and  hours  ago.  She  telephoned 
Mr.  Blainey.  She  got  in  Mr.  Kent's  rowboat 
and  was  blown  to  a  nearby  island." 

"You  knew  where  Mrs.  Green  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,"  raged  Bopp,  turning 
on  me,  "and  you  didn't  tell  me,  but  let  me; 


182  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

tramp  my  feet  off  looking  for  her?  Here  I 
am,  dying  of  weariness  and  lack  of  sleep,  when 
a  word  might  have  saved  me." 

While  he  was  glaring  at  me  Kent  strolled  in. 

"Say,  Mr.  Bopp,"  Kent  said  curiously,  "will 
you  tell  me  one  thing?" 

"Why,  certainly." 

"How  did  you  ever  come  to  find  that  shelf  on 
the  cliff  where  you  were  sleeping  all  the  after- 
noon? I  passed  you  a  dozen  times,  and  I'd 
never  have  seen  you  at  all  if  I  hadn't  heard  you 
snore." 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 
'OH,  MY  POOR  TOOTLES!" 


VIDA  came  in  carrying  a  pair  of  shoes,  a 
coat,  a  pair  of  trousers  and  a  hat. 

"He's  gone,"  she  said  briefly.  "As  soon  as 
he  saw  me  coming  he  dived  into  the  lake  and 
swam  off  rapidly.  He  looked  back  from  time 
to  time,  but  I  couldn't  make  him  hear." 

"He  was  afraid  you  would  swim  after  him," 
I  explained.  "Are  you  in  the  market  for  old 
clothes  ?"  I  indicated  her  burden. 

"No,  these  are  his.  He  left  them  on  the 
bank  and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  bring  them 
in.  I  suppose  he  will  be  killed." 

"Who?"  asked  Lucile  and  Bopp  in  one 
breath. 

"Mr.  Clair,"  Vida  answered.  "He  is  trying 
to  reach  the  mainland  by  swimming." 

"Oh,  the  brave  fellow,"  Lucile  exclaimed. 
"He  is  risking  his  life  to  get  supplies  to  us. 
To  think  that  I  didn't  like  him  very  well  at 

first." 

185 


i86  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

I  explained  gently  that  if  Mr.  Clair  ever 
reached  the  shore,  which  was  very  doubtful,  he 
would  probably  never  think  of  us  again,  or  if 
he  did  it  would  be  only  to  recall  a  very  unpleas- 
ant experience  which  he  would  endeavor  to 
banish  from  his  mind. 

"I  wish  I  knew  where  Tootles  is,"  worried 
Lucile. 

"So  do  I,"  I  added  fervently.  I  don't  sup- 
pose that  anyone  wished  it  any,  more  sincerely 
than  I  did. 

"She  must  be  in  the  house,"  Vida  said. 

"I've  looked  everywhere,"  Lucile  declared 
despondently. 

"But  she  is  such  a  little  doggie,"  Vida  in- 
sisted. "She  might  hide  herself  in  a  valise  or 
an  old  box  or  she  might  even  get  inside  the 
walls.  Is  there  an  unfinished  part  of  the  house 
in  the  attic  where  she  might  get  in  under  the 
floor  or  between  the  inner  and  outer  walls  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  there's  an  attic,"  admitted  Lucile, 
encouraged.  "I  went  up  there  and  whistled, 
but  I  never  thought  that  she  might  get  in  under 
the  floor.  Come  on,  let's  look." 

We  all  mounted  to  the  attic  wherein  reposed 


"OH,  MY  POOR  TOOTLES!''      187 

the  usual  treasures  of  discarded  and  broken 
furniture,  ancient  magazines,  trunks,  and  cob- 
webs, all  bathed  in  a  hot,  dusty  atmosphere 
reminiscent  of  mothballs. 

"I'll  whistle,"  Lucile  said,  "and  then  we'll 
be  just  as  quiet  as  possible.  If  she's  here  she'll 
answer  me." 

"Answer  you?  Can  she  whistle,  too?" 
asked  Jim,  the  frying-pan  engineer. 

"No,  of  course  not.  When  I  whistle,  if 
she's  alive,  she'll  whine  and  bark." 

"Oh." 

"Shut  up,  Jim.  Let  her  whistle,"  com- 
manded Captain  Perkins.  "I  never  knew  but 
one  girl  who  could  whistle  good  and  after  a 
dentist  pulled  one  of  her  front  teeth  she  couldn't 
any  more." 

"Sh,"  Vida  said,  laying  a  hand  on  the  sea- 
dog's  arm. 

After  a  pause  Jim  asked,  "Why  don't  she 
whistle  ?" 

"She's  tryin'  to,"  explained  the  captain,  who 
correctly  interpreted  the  facial  gymnastics 
which  Lucile  was  performing. 

"Maybe  she  ain't  got  enough  steam  in  her 


i88  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

biler."  Jim  was  earnestly  endeavoring  to  be 
helpful. 

"No,  from  the  way  she  looks  I  think  she's 
bust  something,"  said  his  superior  officer. 

At  last  a  faint  hissing  sound  came  from 
Lucile's  puckered  lips.  No  right-minded  dog 
would  ever  have  recognized  it  as  a  summons 
to  heel,  but  I  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief — I  knew 
at  last  that  Lucile  was  safe  anyway. 

After  a  pause  Lucile  asked,  "Did  you  hear 
anything?" 

"Not  yet,"  Jim  replied.  "Why  don't  you  try 
singing  through  a  comb  ?" 

"I  meant,  did  you  hear  Tootles  bark?" 

"No,  ma'm." 

"Then  she's  dead."  Lucile  nearly  broke 
down.  She  looked  around  for  a  bosom  on 
which  to  weep,  but  scorned  both  Bopp's  and 
mine.  "I  loved  her  so." 

There  was  a  whispered  consultation  between 
Captain  Perkins  and  Jim,  and  Jim  tiptoed 
downstairs. 

"Maybe  if  you  tried  again,"  said  the  captain 
to  Lucile,  "the  pup  might  hear  you.  You 
didn't  whistle  very  loud  the  first  time." 


"OH,  MY  POOR  TOOTLES!"      189 

Lucile  whistled  again  with  a  considerably 
more  audible  result. 

We  all  listened. 

There  was  a  faint  whine  and  a  short,  sharp, 
but  distant,  bark.  I  presume  that  I  was  the 
most  surprised  person  in  the  party. 

"There  she  is,"  Vida  declared.  "I  thought 
maybe  she  was  up  here." 

"But  that  doesn't  sound  like  Tootles,"  Lucile 
objected. 

"It  must  be."  Bopp  announced  this  master- 
piece of  logic.  "There  isn't  any  other  dog  in 
the  house,  is  there  ?  Probably  her  voice  sounds 
different  far  off." 

"And  probably  she  is  penned  in  somewhere 
and  frightened.  That  might  make  her  sound 
different."  Ah,  why  did  I  have  that  idea,  and 
why,  having  it,  did  I  not  conceal  it  in  one  of  the 
recesses  of  my  brain  instead  of  voicing  it  to 
all? 

"Oh,  my  poor  Tootles!"  Lucile  began  pic- 
turing her  pet  suffocating.  "Maybe  she  is 
dying — or  dead  already." 

"Whistle  again,"  directed  the  captain. 

Lucile  made  several  ineffectual  attempts,  but 


190  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

failed.  "I  can't,"  she  declared;  "I  have  to 
cry." 

"Let  me  call  her,"  I  interposed.  "She 
knows  me." 

As  a  boy  I  used  to  be  able  to  make  consider- 
able racket  by  blowing  on  two  fingers  held  at 
the  proper  angle  in  my  mouth.  I  tried  it  with 
gratifying  results.  I  must  have  been  heard  on 
the  mainland. 

The  reply  was  immediate — short,  snappy 
barks  still  a  long  way  off,  but  very  reassuring 
as  to  vigor  and  delight. 

"She's  right  under  us,"  Lucile  cried. 

"No,  over  by  the  window,  I  should  say,"  ar- 
gued Vida. 

"Poor  darling,  she  has  forgotten  how  she  got 
into  the  place  and  she  thinks  someone  is  keep- 
ing her  cooped  up  on  purpose.  Please,  Monty, 
keep  on  whistling.  She  does  recognize  you, 
and  she'll  know  that  help  is  coming.  We  must 
take  up  the  floor." 

In  her  excitement  and  time  of  need  she  had 
turned  to  me  and  not  to  Bopp !  I  didn't  know 
how  Tootles,  whom  I  had  last  seen  dashing  up 
the  beach  amid  a  cloud  of  sand,  could  possibly 


"OH,  MY  POOR  TOOTLES!"      191 

have  managed  to  get  under  the  attic  floor,  but 
Lucile  had  called  me  "Monty/'  and  reason  dis- 
mounted from  her  throne  and  carnival  was 
king. 

I  whistled  blithely,  piercingly,  joyfully,  coax- 
ingly,  and  whenever  I  paused  the  barking  re- 
warded me. 

"Tear  up  the  floor,"  Lucile  ordered.  "We 
can't  let  her  stay  there  any  longer." 

"Hadn't  we  better  see  if  she  won't  come  out 
by  herself?"  the  captain  asked  tentatively. 
"It  seems  a  shame  to  tear  up  that  there  plank- 
ing." 

"Not  for  Tootles/'  Lucile  replied.  "What 
do  I  care  for  an  old  attic  floor  when  my  Tootles 
is  in  danger?  She  shan't  stay  there  another 
minute  if  I  can  help  it."  She  tried  to  pry  up 
a  board  with  her  finger  nails. 

"Wait,"  I  requested.  "Let  me  do  this  scien- 
tifically." 

I  wrenched  a  leg  from  an  old  armchair 
which  had  already  suffered  the  amputation  of 
one  of  its  extremities,  and  with  that  as  a  lever 
pried  up  one  of  the  flooring  boards  at  the  ends 
which  extended  loose  over  the  floor  beams.  As 


192  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

the  plank  came  up  amid  a  cloud  of  dust  Lucile 
gave  me  a  look  such  as  must  have  rewarded 
Launcelot  from  the  grandstand  after  he  ran 
a  curtain  pole  through  a  cast-iron  white 
hope. 

We  assembled  around  the  hole  I  had  made. 
No  Tootles  in  sight. 

"Whistle,"  Lucile  commanded  me. 

I  obeyed. 

Joyful  barks,  but  nothing  more. 

"Take  up  some  more  boards,"  Lucile  might 
have  been  saying;  "Wait  until  you  see  the 
whites  of  their  eyes,"  or  "Don't  give  up  the 
ship." 

"Hadn't  we  better  wait?"  Captain  Perkins 
was  an  earnest  advocate  of  the  Fabian  policy. 

"No." 

I  took  up  another  board,  and  yet  another, 
stopping  to  whistle  each  time  without  appar- 
ently getting  any  nearer. 

"She's  there  somewhere,"  declared  Tootles' 
foster  mother,  puzzled  but  still  determined. 
"Keep  on  until  you  find  her." 

I  had  taken  up  all  but  half  a  dozen  of  the 
boards  when  my  foot  slipped  from  the  cross 


"OH,  MY  POOR  TOOTLES!"      193 

floor  beam  on  which  I  was  working  and  struck 
the  lath  which  was  nailed  on  the  other  side. 

The  lath  offered  but  slight  resistance,  the 
plaster  was  even  more  fragile,  and  I  went 
through  rather  hastily,  clutching  wildly  at 
nothing  in  particular.  My  last  recollection 
was  of  Lucile's  horror-stricken  face  as  she  saw 
me  sinking  from  sight,  like  the  villain  in 
"Lorna  Doone." 

My  next  conscious  remembrance  was  of  sit- 
ting flat  in  the  middle  of  a  bed,  the  springs  of 
which  were  gently  bouncing  me  up  and  down 
after  the  fashion  of  a  net  into  which  a  trapeze 
performer  has  dropped  from  the  top  of  the 
tent.  Above  was  a  hole  in  the  ceiling,  around 
me  were  chunks  of  plaster  and  splinters  of  lath 
and  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the  window  was  Jim, 
his  mouth  open,  emitting  a  series  of  short  sharp 
yelps. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 
FURTHER  MYSTERY 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

LUCILE,  Vida,  Bopp,  Kent,  and  the  captain 
made  a  ring  of  faces  around  the  hole  in  the 
ceiling. 

"Stop  barking,  you  darn  fool,"  shouted  the 
captain,  after  a  moment  devoted  to  startled  sur- 
prise by  all  concerned. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  replied  Jim,  saluting. 

"Then  it  wasn't  Tootles  at  all."  Lucile  was 
overwhelmed  by  grief  that  was  all  the  more 
poignant  because  it  had  been  held  off  so  long 
by  hope. 

"You  have  to  admit  that  Jim  is  an  all  round 
bright  young  fellow,"  declared  the  captain 
proudly.  "It  ain't  often  you  can  find  a  marine 
engineer  who  can  cook  and  do  as  good  an  imi- 
tation of  a  dog  as  that." 

"But  why,"  I  fixed  the  captain  with  a  malev- 
olent eye,  "why  did  he  imitate  a  dog  at  this  par- 
ticular moment?  What  is  the  cause  of  this 
character  study  of  a  canine  under  a  floor? 

197 


198  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

Why  not  a  dog  out  in  the  yard  chasing  his  tail, 
or  a  Newfoundland  pup  having  an  argument 
with  a  dilapidated  shoe?" 

"Why,  this  was  a  little  idea  of  my  own," 
stated  Captain  Perkins,  modestly.  "When  I 
see  Miss  Green  was  going  to  be  all  broke  up  if 
nothing  answered  when  she  whistled,  I  told 
Jim  there  to  go  downstairs  and  pretend  to  be 
the  pup,  just  so's  she'd  feel  better." 

"What  I  want  to  know,  Mr.  Blainey,"  Jim 
asked,  with  a  brightly  enquiring  eye,  "is  how 
did  you  know  just  where  that  bed  was?" 

"Are  you  hurt  ?"  Lucile  enquired,  with  tardy 
solicitude.  "I'll  come  right  down  and  get  the 
liniment." 

"These  modern  steel  springs  are  marvels  of 
strength,  aren't  they?"  speculated  Bopp,  when 
they  had  all  descended  and  formed  an  admiring 
circle  around  the  bed.  "Think  of  dropping 
Monty  on  one  of  those  old-fashioned  coil 
spring  affairs." 

Lucile  entered  with  a  strip  of  inch  gauze  and 
a  bottle  of  peroxide. 

"This  is  all  I  could  find,"  she  explained. 
"Mr.  Johnson  borrowed  the  liniment  last  week 


FURTHER  MYSTERY  199 

to  use  on  his  horse.     Where  shall  I  put  this?" 

"Rub  a  little  of  it  right  here,"  Bopp  pointed 
to  one  of  the  legs  of  the  bed. 

"I  never  can  thank  you  enough,  Monty,"  de- 
clared Lucile,  disregarding  Bopp  and  smiling 
at  me  tenderly.  "You  did  your  best,  and  even 
if  we  never  find  Tootles  I  shall  not  forget  what 
you  have  gone  through  for  her." 

"Neither  will  your  father."  Bopp  indicated 
the  ceiling. 

"I  know  where  I  saw  that  dog  last,"  ex- 
claimed Kent,  as  one  inspired. 

"Where  ?"     Lucile  turned  to  him. 

"He  was  out  doors  hittin'  the  breeze  this  aft- 
ernoon." 

"Outdoors?  She  isn't  allowed  out.  What 
was  she  doing?" 

"She  was  vamping  up  the  beach  and  Mr. 
Blainey  was  running  after  her." 

Guilt  seeks  out  the  criminal  and  fastens  her 
brand  upon  him  publicly.  Policemen  are  but 
jailers.  Detectives  are  only  men  who  let  na- 
ture do  their  work  for  them. 

There  was  a  nasty  staccato  laugh.  I  did  not 
need  to  look  to  know  that  it  was  Bopp. 


200  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Mr.  Kent  seems  to  have  a  very  observing 
mind/'  he  said. 

Lucile  looked  at  me  reproachfully.  "Is  this 
true?"  she  asked. 

"Yes."  George  .Washington  could  have 
done  no  more. 

"You  didn't  catch  her?" 

"No." 

Nothing  more  was  to  be  said.  I  had  been 
tried,  convicted  and  sentenced. 

The  telephone  rang.  Lucile  went  to  answer 
it.  The  rest  of  us  followed  more  at  our  leisure. 
When  we  had  arrived  downstairs,  Lucile  was 
talking  to  someone  over  the  wire,  evidently  her 
mother. 

"I'm  glad  you're  all  right,"  she  was  saying, 
"and  that  you  have  had  something  to  eat. 
Don't  feel  badly  about  breaking  the  fast.  No 
one  blames  you  a  bit.  That's  all  right.  We 
would  too  if  we  could." 

A  pause  during  which  she  listened,  a  frown 
gathering  on  her  face. 

"Don't  you  worry,  mother.  We're  all  right. 
All  except  Tootles.  She  is  lost. —  What's 
the  matter?  You  saw  someone  outside  in  the 


FURTHER  MYSTERY  201 

moonlight? —  A  man?  With  whiskers? — 
Nonsense,  no  one  lives  there  at  this  time  of 
year.  Everybody  left  in  September.  Just  go 
to  bed  and  don't  think  about  such  things." 

Lucile  stifled  a  scream. 

"Hello,  mother.  What?  Someone  is  try- 
ing the  door?  It's  opening — hello — hello — 
mother — " 

Lucile  dropped  the  receiver  and  sank  back- 
wards into  Vida's  arms.  I  picked  up  the  tele- 
phone and  held  it  to  my  ear  shouting  "Hello! 
Hello!" 

There  was  no  response.     The  wire  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 
THE  SECRET  OF  THE  SOUP 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

WHEN  Lucile  had  been  revived  without  re- 
sorting to  any  of  the  violent  methods  suggested 
by  the  resourceful  Captain  Perkins,  I  endeav- 
ored to  explain  away  any  cause  for  fright. 

"Even  if  she  really  did  see  a  man,"  I  said, 
"which  seems  improbable,  he  is  not  going  to 
murder  her.  Probably  he  just  stopped  to  en- 
quire the  time  of  day." 

"But  mother  said  he  had  whiskers." 

"I  know,"  I  continued,  "that  is  against  him, 
but  maybe  it  is  hereditary  in  his  family." 

"Maybe  she  just  dreamed  it,"  Kent  offered 
sensibly.  "Let's  call  her  up  again.  She 
seemed  a  little  dented  on  top  when  I  first  saw 
her.  By  this  time  maybe  the  attack  is  over." 

That  seemed  a  fair  enough  suggestion  and  I 
acted  on  it.  I  asked  Central  to  give  me  Hunt- 
ingdon's Island  once  more. 

"I'm  sorry,"  Central  answered,  "but  I  can't 

seem  to  get  them.     I've  been  ringing  on  that 

205 


206  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

line  for  the  last  ten  minutes.  There's  another 
party  trying  to  get  them." 

"Another  party?"  I  questioned.     "Who?" 

"I  couldn't  say.  It  isn't  anyone  I  know. 
His  voice  sounds  like  he  was  a  tall,  thin,  young 
man  from  New  York." 

"Can't  get  them,"  I  told  the  listening  group. 

"What  can  we  do  now?  I  must  go  to  help 
mother.  I  must  go.  I  must  go."  Lucile  be- 
gan to  get  hysterical. 

"Wait,  dear,"  Vida  said,  patting  her  hand. 
"We  can't  go  because  we  haven't  any  boat." 
Turning  to  the  rest  of  us  she  asked,  "Whom 
could  we  telephone  to  and  ask  to  go  over 
there?" 

"The  sheriff  is  the  right  man,  I  should 
think,"  Bopp  suggested. 

"He'd  be  plumb  tickled,  too,"  added  Captain 
Perkins.  "He  ain't  had  a  chance  to  arrest  no- 
body since  he's  been  swore  in." 

"That's  it,  the  sheriff,"  Lucile  said  fever- 
ishly. "Get  the  sheriff  and  let  me  talk  to  him." 

"We  don't  want  the  public  to  know  about 
this,"  I  objected. 

"What  do  I  care  about  the  public  if  my 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  SOUP     207 

mother  is  in  danger  ?"  Lucile  very  properly  de- 
manded. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  do,  so 
I  asked  the  telephone  operator  to  see  if  she 
could  locate  the  sheriff. 

"I  guess  he's  down  to  the  railroad  station," 
Central  volunteered.  "It's  most  train  time, 
and  he  most  usually  goes  down  there  looking 
for  a  suspicious  character  to  get  off  the  north- 
bound passenger.  I'll  ask  the  agent  if  he's 
there." 

She  did,  and  he  was.  After  a  slight  delay 
I  found  myself  addressing  a  strange  voice 
which  I  requested  to  hold  the  wire.  I  turned 
the  receiver  over  to  Lucile. 

She  told  the  sheriff  in  breathless  haste  that 
her  mother  had  been  foully  dealt  with  on  Hunt- 
ingdon's Island  and  offered  him  limitless  re- 
wards to  capture  her  slayer.  I  don't  believe 
that  Lucile  herself  really  thought  the  situation 
was  as  serious  as  she  painted  it,  but  she  was  a 
victim  of  the  well-known  human  vice  of  exag- 
geration to  which  women  especially  are  ad- 
dicted when  relating  some  calamity. 

When  she  had  told  him  details  which  I  am 


208  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

sure  even  the  Haniman  Syndicate  reporter 
would  never  have  thought  of  without  her  as- 
sistance, she  at  last  reluctantly  hung  up. 

"Is  there  anything  further  we  can  do?" 
Lucile  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  stopping 
to  look  out  the  window  from  time  to  time  as  if 
she  expected  to  be  able  to  see  to  Huntingdon's 
Island. 

"Nothing  but  wait,  dear,"  Vida  said.  "I'm 
sure  nothing  serious  has  happened." 

"Then  why  doesn't  mother  call  up  and  tell 
us  that  she  is  all  right?" 

This  was  unanswerable.  No  one  thought  of 
a  sensible  reason  for  keeping  Mrs.  Green  away 
from  the  telephone. 

"We  had  better  do  something  to  occupy  our 
minds  until  we  hear  from  the  sheriff,"  Vida 
said,  rising  to  the  position  of  commanding 
officer  in  the  emergency. 

I  thought  of  my  clams. 

"Come  with  me,"  I  exclaimed,  and  led  the 
way  toward  the  kitchen.  "I  have  a  surprise 
for  you." 

"You   have    found   Tootles!"     Lucile   was 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  SOUP     209 

radiant.  That  girl's  mind  oscillated  like  a 
pendulum  between  her  lost  mother  and  her  lost 
dog. 

"No,"  I  replied,  somewhat  crestfallen,  for  I 
had  again  forgotten  Tootles,  "but  I  have  some- 
thing for  you  to  eat." 

Never  have  I  been  so  popular  as  I  was  at 
that  moment,  that  is,  with  all  but  Lucile.  I 
haven't  said  much  about  our  hunger  because 
there  is  little  to  be  said.  It  is  practically  im- 
possible to  convey  to  the  mind  of  the  well-fed 
reader  what  it  means  to  miss  many  meals. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  average  run  of  experi- 
ence with  which  to  compare  it.  The  sensa- 
tions of  a  drunkard  taking  an  enforced  cure 
may  be  somewhat  similar,  but  I  doubt  if  even 
that  is  as  strenuous.  We  had  now  been  with- 
out food  three  days  and  had  missed  nine  meals. 
One  interesting  sidelight  of  our  experience  is 
the  discovery  that  men  seem  to  depend  more 
on  food  than  women  do.  A  male  is  an  indi- 
vidual to  avoid  when  minus  one  or  two  meals. 
Don't  speak  to  him  at  all  unless  you  absolutely 
must  and  then  it  is  better  to  write  your  com- 


210  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

munication    and    shove    it    under    the    door. 

I  led  my  hopeful  companions  to  the  kitchen. 

"What  is  it?"  Bopp  asked. 
•  "It's  a  secret,"  I  replied  mysteriously,  inves- 
tigating my  kettle  of  clams,  which,  strange  to 
relate,  had  not  boiled  entirely  away.  "I'll 
serve  it  to  you  and  then  you  can  guess  what 
it  is." 

I  found  a  number  of  bowls  in  the  pantry  and 
with  a  porcelain  dipper  I  ladled  a  goodly  por- 
tion of  clam  broth  into  each.  When  I  had 
passed  them  around  my  companions  stood 
sniffing  their  rations  suspiciously. 

"Did  you  cook  this  all  by  yourself?"  asked 
Kent. 

"I  did,"  I  averred  modestly. 

"From  raw  materials  you  found  on  the  is- 
land?" supplemented  Bopp. 

"Everything  in  it  grew  right  here,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

"It's  Tootles,"  screamed  Lucile,  turning  pale 
and  putting  her  bowl  down  on  the  table. 

"It  can't  be,"  said  Bopp,  sniffing.  "This  has 
a  decidedly  fishy  smell." 

"I  know  it,"  wailed  Lucile  with  tears  cours- 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  SOUP.    211 

ing  down  her  cheeks.  "That's  what  makes  me 
think  it's  Tootles-*-we  have  been  feeding  her 
lots  of  fish  lately." 

I  started  to  explain.  "Lucile,  how  can  you 
accuse  me  of  such  a  thing?" 

"You  never  liked  Tootles.  I  know  it.  You 
cared  more  for  your  appetite  than  for  my  little 
darling.  Now  I  see  through  all  the  mystery 
about  what  the  food  was,  and  what  you  were 
doing  all  the  afternoon  while  I  slept.  I  sup- 
pose you  drugged  me  so  that  I  wouldn't  hear 
the  poor  little  thing's  screams.  Oh,  mother! 
Oh,  Tootles!" 

"Lucile,"  I  began,  "I—" 

"Don't  speak  to  me.  I  don't  ever  want  to 
see  you  again,  you  fat  murderer." 

That  was  too  much.  I  might  have  stood  for 
being  called  a  murderer,  but  not  a  fat  one. 

"Very  well,"  I  replied.  "It  certainly  will 
not  be  necessary  for  you  to  see  me.  I  will  go, 
and  I  assure  you  that  I  will  never  enter  your 
house  again." 

I  went  to  the  door  with  as  much  dignity  as 
I  could  assume. 

"Good  bye,"  I  said  as  I  opened  the  door. 


212  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

No  one  answered  but  Bopp,  who  tiptoed 
after  me  and  whispered  solemnly,  "We  are 
going  to  bury  your  soup  tomorrow  morning 
with  full  military  honors.  If  you  can't  come, 
send  flowers.  The  service  will  be  held  at  ten- 
thirty." 

I  went  out  and  slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 

It  was  raining  again. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 
THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

To  my  shame  be  it  said  that  my  thoughts 
dwelt  with  that  untasted  clam  stew  as  I  left  the 
house.  I  had  quarreled  with  her  whom  I  loved 
best,  but  even  that  paled  into  insignificance 
compared  with  the  fact  that  I  craved  food. 
Thus  does  physiology  triumph  over  psychology 
every  time. 

While  the  rain  drizzled  down  on  my  unpro- 
tected head  and  the  chill  night  wind  blew 
through  my  intentionally  porous  outing  cloth- 
ing, I  admitted  to  myself  that  perhaps  I  had 
been  a  trifle  precipitate  in  asserting  my  pride 
without  first  providing  myself  with  an  over- 
coat and  an  umbrella.  It  is  one  thing  to  leave 
a  friend's  house  in  the  city  vowing  never  to 
return,  and  quite  a  different  proposition  to  do 
the  same  on  an  island  where  there  are  no  other 
dwellings.  Standing  in  the  rain  with  an 
empty  stomach,  I  find,  is  an  excellent  cure  for 

215 


216  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

haughtiness  of  spirit.  Prominent  members  of 
the  Bread  Line  can  doubtless  corroborate  this. 

There  was  no  particular  place  to  go  and  ap- 
parently no  chance  of  leaving  the  island  before 
morning,  anyway.  I  bethought  me  of  the  lat- 
tice summer  house  and  decided  that  it  might 
not  be  a  bad  idea  to  take  what  shelter  it  af- 
forded. Before  I  started  out,  however,  I  went 
out  to  a  shed  in  the  rear  of  the  house  which  by 
courtesy  is  called  the  "garage,"  to  see  what  I 
might  find  to  protect  me  from  the  weather. 
The  chief  contents  of  the  place  as  revealed  by 
a  flickering  match  were  step-ladders,  cans  of 
paint,  coiled  up  garden  hose,  kerosene  cans  and 
empty  wash  tubs.  None  of  these,  even  the  last 
named,  were  particularly  serviceable  unless 
one  happened  to  be  built  like  Diogenes,  whose 
figure,  to  my  mind,  has  always  been  a  subject 
for  speculation. 

On  a  line  stretched  across  the  shed  dangled 
a  small  collection  of  dainty  clothing  of  an  inti- 
mate nature  which  I  discovered  to  be  the  cos- 
tume worn  by  Miss  Dunmore  when  she  came 
ashore  and  which  had  been  hung  there  to  dry 
out.  The  tights  and  doublet  were  almost  dry, 


THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE     217 

but  practically  useless  to  me  because  Vida  and 
I  have  not  the  same  waist  measure  by  a  couple 
of  feet.  I  abandoned  any  idea  of  staying  in 
the  shed  on  account  of  its  proximity  to  the  cot- 
tage and  headed  for  the  summer  house.  The 
wind,  I  noticed,  was  not  nearly  as  strong  as  it 
had  been  during  the  day  and  was  hauling 
around  to  the  southward,  which  gave  me  hopes 
of  a  calm  day  on  the  morrow.  A  calm  day 
meant  food  and  a  chance  to  leave  the  island. 

After  some  difficulty  I  found  the  summer 
house  and  sat  under  its  cheerless  shelter  listen- 
ing to  the  rain  drip  off  from  its  roof  on  to  the 
dead  leaves  below  while  I  reviewed  my  situa- 
tion. I  had  to  admit  that  I  could  not  be  in  a 
much  worse  plight.  Lucile  had  doubtless 
spoken  hastily  and  with  a  sharpness  engen- 
dered by  knife-edge  nerves ;  still  she  was  proud 
and  would  probably  not  apologize  to  me  any 
more  than  I  would  retract  my  spoken  vow  not 
to  enter  her  house  again.  We  might  meet  at 
the  homes  of  friends  or  even  in  restaurants, 
but  doubtless  she  would  be  careful  to  avoid 
chance  encounters.  Clearly  my  love  affair 
was  in  a  bad  way  and  required  heroic  treat- 


218  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

ment  to  put  it  back  into  a  healthy  normal  con- 
dition. 

Meditating  upon  that  and  wondering  what 
could  have  happened  to  Mrs.  Green  on  the  lit- 
tle island  just  south  of  us  I  gradually  dozed  off 
and  slipped  down  to  the  floor.  It  is  surprising 
under  what  strange  conditions  a  man  can  sleep 
if  he  really  needs  it.  They  say  Napoleon  was 
able  to  snatch  a  nap  on  the  battlefield  with  an 
artillery  duel  going  on. 

My  figure  is  not  such,  however,  that  I  rest 
perfectly  on  a  flat  surface.  For  that  reason 
my  slumbers  were  uneasy  and  troubled  with 
dreams  in  which  I  went  through  various  tor- 
tures of  the  Inquisition,  such  as  having  my 
bones  broken  on  the  rack  and  other  mediaeval 
variations  of  the  third  degree.  My  last  night- 
mare was  that  of  being  blinded  by  a  red-hot 
iron.  (Who  was  it  had  that  done  to  him? 
I  remember,  it  was  "Michael  Strogoff,  the 
Courier  of  the  Czar."  Shades  of  Jules 
Verne!)  Anyway,  it  happened  to  me  in  my 
dreams  and  the  burning  sensation  was  so  vivid 
that  I  awoke  in  terror. 

Tootles  was  calmly  licking  my  face.     I  sup- 


THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE     219 

pose  her  tongue  had  rasped  across  my  eyes. 
I  remembered  having  been  told  that  this 
method  of  awakening  a  sleeper  was  one  of  her 
cutest  tricks.  If  I  ever  have  a  dog  of  my  own 
I'm  going  to  spend  a  lot  of  time  teaching  him 
not  to  do  this  trick. 

My  first  and  most  natural  impulse  was  to 
kick  the  little  pest  about  two-thirds  of  the  way 
to  the  mainland,  but  I  was  governed  by  a  later 
and  more  humane  course  of  reasoning.  Tootles 
had  already  caused  me  too  much  trouble  for 
me  to  care  about  losing  sight  of  her  again.  In 
the  future  Damon  and  Pythias  would  have 
nothing  on  Tootles  and  me  as  far  as  intimacy 
went. 

I  was  about  to  insist  that  the  pup  rest  some- 
where besides  on  my  head  and  return  to  my 
slumbers  once  more,  when  my  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  slight  noise  outside.  Someone 
was  cautiously  approaching  the  summer  house. 
Who  the  dickens  could  be  out  wandering  about 
at  that  time  of  night  ?  I  judged  by  the  feel  that 
it  was  about  midnight.  You  know  how  you  can 
feel  lateness.  It  is  harder  to  do  in  the  country 
than  in  the  city  where  you  have  the  sense  of 


220  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

hearing  to  help  you,  but  you  can  tell  just  the 
same  even  in  the  woods.  I  think  maybe  there 
is  a  difference  in  the  quality  of  the  air  after  the 
sun  has  not  magnetized  it  for  a  long  time. 

The  person,  whoever  he  was,  came  nearer,  a 
little  at  a  time.  Finally  he  touched  the  side 
of  the  house  and  felt  his  way  around  to  the 
door. 

The  latch  was  lifted  and  some  one  entered 
and  paused  a  moment  as  if  in  doubt  where  to 
stop. 

I  silenced  an  impulse  on  the  part  of  Tootles 
to  welcome  the  intruder. 

The  weight  of  the  man  who  was  there  not 
ten  feet  from  me  made  the  floor  boards  sag  as 
he  walked  about.  He  was  coming  towards 
me. 

Apparently  he  struck  one  of  the  benches  with 
which  the  place  was  furnished,  for  it  scraped 
along  the  floor.  For  a  moment  he  paused  un- 
certainly and  then  lit  a  match. 

In  its  light  I  discovered  that  he  was  a  tall, 
nattily  clad  young  man  whom  I  had  never  seen 
before. 

I  imagine  my  surprise  was  infinitesimal  com- 


THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE     221 

pared  to  his.  I  was  expecting  him,  but  he 
could  not,  by  any  possible  chance,  have  been 
prepared  for  a  wide-awake,  unblinking  stranger 
staring  at  him  six  feet  away.  For  an  instant, 
only  an  instant,  I  saw  a  flicker  of  fear  in  his 
eyes,  then,  disregarding  me,  he  held  the  match 
to  a  cigar  stub  already  between  his  teeth  and 
drew  a  long,  deep  puff. 

When  we  were  once  more  in  darkness  save 
for  the  tip  of  his  cigar,  he  said  pleasantly, 
"Good  evening." 

I  waited.  I  knew  that  the  superstitious  sav- 
age man  way  down  in  his  heart  was  telling  him 
that  there  would  not  be  any  answer. 

At  last  I  said  with  equal  pleasantness,  "Good 
evening." 

He  sighed  with  relief. 

"Is  this  Green's  cottage?"  he  enquired. 

"No,"  I  replied,  "this  is  merely  a  shelter 
overlooking  an  especially  fine  view  of  the  lake. 
You  will  enjoy  it  in  the  morning." 

"Oh.  Unfortunately  I  shall  not  be  here. 
You,  I  presume,  are  taking  care  of  things  for 
Mr.  Green." 

"Why,  yes,"  I  returned,  perfectly  willing 


222  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

that  he  should  take  me  for  a  night  watchman 
until  I  discovered  what  he  wanted  and  how  he 
got  there. 

"I  was  going  to  Mr.  Green's  cottage,  but 
since  I  have  met  you  it  will  save  me  the  trou- 
ble." 

"I  imagine  it  will,"  I  answered  grimly. 

"Now  wait  a  minute,"  he  retorted,  correctly 
interpreting  my  manner.  "Don't  you  jump  at 
conclusions.  I  haven't  much  time  or  I  could 
explain  it  all  perfectly.  I'm  not  a  thief,  I'm  a 
newspaper  man  on  the  trail  of  a  big  story,  and 
there  are  a  few  questions  I  want  to  ask  and  a 
couple  of  photographs  I  want  to  borrow.  I 
know  it  looks  funny  for  me  to  be  prowling 
around  at  this  time  of  night,  but  there's  an  old 
grouch  over  at  Green's  who  wouldn't  answer 
my  questions  over  the  telephone,  so  I  simply 
had  to  get  a  boat  to  bring  me  over  to  find  out 
for  myself.  Savvy  ?" 

"Umph,"  I  pretended  to  weigh  his  case  ju- 
dicially. "So  you  were  going  to  break  into 
Mr.  Green's  cottage  to  ask  a  few  questions. 
Well,  I  guess  I  can  answer  any  questions  you 


THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE     223 

want  to  ask  until  the  sheriff  takes  you  in 
charge." 

He  laughed. 

"Honest  to  goodness,  man,"  the  reporter  ex- 
claimed, "you  take  yourself  seriously,  don't 
you?  If  you  help  me  I'm  willing  to  cough  up 
a  couple  of  dollars  in  real  money,  which  is 
more  than  my  editor  will  be  apt  to  stand  for  in 
my  expense  account,  but  if  you  don't,  I'll  find 
out  anyway,  because  it's  a  way  I  have,  and 
you'll  probably  be  discharged  for  not  catching 
me." 

"But  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  caught  you," 
I  interposed  mildly. 

"Hardly,"  he  retorted.  "From  the  glance  I 
got  at  your  figure  when  I  lit  the  match  I  should 
judge  that  you  could  run  a  hundred  yards  in 
ten  flat — minutes,  that  is,  while  I  am  some 
sprinter,  as  you  will  have  to  admit  if  you  watch 
me  during  the  next  few  seconds.  I  am  off." 

But  he  wasn't.  While  he  was  talking  I  had 
taken  the  precaution  of  moving  around  be- 
tween him  and  the  door,  so  that  when  he 
started  to  leave,  I  tripped  him  neatly  and  sat 


224  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

on  his  chest.  This  is  a  very  effective  type  of 
jiu  jitsu  for  a  heavy  set  man  to  employ. 

However,  I  couldn't  sit  on  him  all  night.  For 
one  thing  I  wanted  to  sleep.  It  wouldn't  do 
to  let  him  get  away,  either.  Finally  an  in- 
genious scheme  solved  my  difficulty.  I  re- 
moved his  coat  without  unbuttoning  it,  which 
is  done  by  grasping  firmly  the  two  tails  in  the 
back,  one  in  each  hand,  and  pulling  sidewise. 
Treated  in  this  fashion,  even  the  most  ex- 
pensively made  garment  will  separate  along  the 
back  seam  and  may  then  be  taken  off  from  the 
front.  After  I  had  the  coat  in  my  possession 
I  tore  it  into  strips,  which  I  tied  together  and 
made  a  rope  with  which  I  bound  his  ankles  and 
wrists.  Just  for  good  measure  I  ran  a  line 
around  his  body  to  hold  his  arms  down. 

When  I  had  him  all  done  I  lit  a  match  to 
make  sure  it  was  a  good  job. 

"You'll  be  sorry  for  this,"  he  growled.  "Do 
you  know  that  Mrs.  Green  has  been  abducted 
to  Huntingdon's  Island  and  murdered  by  lake 
pirates  ?" 

I  grunted. 

"Won't  you  let  me  go?     I  will  save  her. 


THE  SUMMER  HOUSE  CAPTIVE     225 

Remember  if  you  don't  I  know  what  you  look 
like  and  I'll  put  you  in  jail  for  assault." 

"It  isn't  customary,"  I  commented,  "for  men 
who  break  into  other  people's  houses  to  have 
anyone  put  in  jail." 

"There's  a  place  on  my  shoulder  that  itches," 
he  complained.  "Will  you  please  scratch  it?" 

"I  would,  if  you  hadn't  made  that  remark 
about  my  running  a  hundred  yards  in  ten  min- 
utes. As  it  is,  I  think  I'll  let  your  shoulder 
itch.  It  will  take  your  mind  off  what  the  man- 
aging editor  of  your  paper  will  say  when  you 
don't  show  up  with  that  story.  So  long." 

I  went  out. 

"Help!"  A  cry  of  real  terror  came  from 
within  the  summer  house. 

I  turned  back. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"There's  something  alive  here,"  he  chat- 
tered. "I  think  it's  a  snake.  It's  crawling 
across  my  face." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  of  letting  him  think 
that,  then  I  decided  that  it  would  be  too  cruel. 

I  lit  a  match. 

"There's  your  snake,"  I  commented  briefly, 


226  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

indicating  Tootles,  who  was  licking  his  face 
industriously. 

"Oh."  He  sighed  with  unmistakable  relief. 
"Take  it  away,  will  you  ?" 

"Couldn't  think  of  it,  old  man.  That  dog 
has  been  trained  for  months  to  do  that  very 
thing.  If  I  made  her  stop  now,  all  those 
months  of  training  would  be  confused  in  her 
little  dog  mind.  She  won't  hurt  you." 

"I  can't  stand  this."  He  apparently  tried  to 
roll  away  from  Tootles.  "If  you  are  going 
away  please  take  this  pup  with  you." 

"Impossible."  I  went  to  the  door  again. 
"She  will  guard  you.  Tootles,"  I  commanded 
sternly  as  if  she  had  been  a  regular  dog.  "Sic 
'em,  Tootles — I  mean  lick  him,  Tootles,  lick 
him." 

I  went  out,  followed  by  a  variously  expressed 
opinion  of  myself  and  Tootles.  Lucile,  I  pre- 
sume, would  not  have  allowed  Tootles  to  hear 
such  language,  but  I  think  it  was  a  liberal  edu- 
cation for  the  dog,  and  I  believe  that  she  has 
been  the  better  for  it  ever  since. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 
VOYAGE  OF  THE  MERRY  WIDOW 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

IT  had  stopped  raining  entirely  now  and  the 
south  wind  had  become  a  warm  and  welcome 
reality.  The  stars  were  out  in  considerable 
force,  veiled  now  and  then  by  scurrying  banks 
of  storm  clouds  which  were  being  driven  in  full 
retreat  to  the  horizon. 

I  went  down  to  the  cove.  As  I  had  rather 
expected  I  found  Bill  Johnson  there  with  his 
motor-scow,  the  Merry  Widow,  with  her  nose 
driven  up  on  the  beach. 

"Morning,  Bill." 

"Goot  morning,  sare." 

Bill's  father  was  Danish,  I  believe,  and  his 
mother  was  a  French  Canadian.  His  speech  is 
a  combination  of  patois  that  he  heard  at  home. 
He's  an  oldish  sort  of  a  man  now,  with  bent 
back  and  twisted  fingers,  but  he  is  still  the  best 
guesser  as  to  what  might  be  the  matter  with  a 

motor  boat  that  it  has  been  my  pleasure  to 

229 


230  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

meet.  He  has  to  be  to  keep  his  own  boat 
afloat. 

"Quite  a  sea  out  there."  I  indicated  the 
lake., 

"She  shall  run  pretty  high,"  replied  Bill,  "but 
not  so  high  like  she  do  a  while  ago." 

"Just  come  out  for  the  ride?"  I  queried. 

"No — the  Merry  Widow  she  bring  over  a 
young  man,  a  newspaper  feller.  He  say  he 
shall  give  three  dollar  or  I  wouldn't,  by  Yim- 
miny  Christmas,  do  it.  No,  sare,  not  for  two- 
fifty  even  I  shan't  do  it."  Then  he  added  with 
a  slight  wink,  "The  sea,  she  ain't  so  high  now 
as  I  make  him  think." 

"Do  you  know  where  Huntingdon's  Island 
is?"  I  enquired,  a  vague  plan  of  action  formu- 
lating itself  in  my  brain. 

"Sure,  I  know  him.  She  set  over  yon  'bout 
three  mile,  maybe  four  or  two  and  a  half." 

"Well,  the  young  man  you  brought  over  here 
has  decided  to  stay  for  an  hour  or  so.  While 
you  are  waiting  I  want  you  to  take  me  over  to 
Huntingdon's  and  get  Mrs.  Green." 

"Missus  Green?  What  she  do  by  Hunting- 
don's?" 


VOYAGE  OF  THE  MERRY  WIDOW   231 

"I'll  tell  you  later  after  I  think  up  some  in- 
teresting explanation.  At  present  I  shouldn't 
be  able  to  do  the  subject  justice.  How  about 
it?  Will  you  take  me  over  there?" 

He  hesitated. 

"Here's  a  dollar,"  I  said.  "The  storm  is 
quieting  down  a  good  deal  and,  anyway,  you 
know  the  Merry  Widow  is  the  best  sea-boat  on 
the  lake." 

The  flattery  won  him.  What  owner,  even  of 
the  veriest  motor  monstrosity,  is  not  suscepti- 
ble to  praise  bestowed  upon  his  darling.  I 
have  found,  too,  that  when  no  word  can  be  said 
for  the  excellence  of  the  engine,  or  the  beauty 
of  line  of  the  vessel,  a  knowing  remark  dropped 
about  her  sea-going  qualities  will  always  hit 
the  spot.  The  worse  they  look  the  more  sea- 
worthy they  are,  at  least  to  the  distorted  imag- 
ination of  the  deluded  individuals  who  own 
them. 

Bill  took  the  dollar. 

"I  guess  she  shall  run  all  right.  One  waive, 
she  shan't  work  yust  so  good  as  she  ought,  but 
I  got  some  wire.  I  fix  him  up." 

I  have  since  discovered  that  almost  any  re- 


232  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

pair  can  be  made  on  the  Merry  Widow  with  a 
piece  of  bell  wire,  from  a  burst  water  jacket 
to  a  defective  induction  coil. 

I  helped  him  shove  off  and  Bill  tinkered  with 
the  one  cylinder  machine  gun  which  propelled 
the  barge,  until  he  induced  it  to  bark  at  irregu- 
lar intervals. 

Have  I  forgotten  to  mention  that  the  Merry 
Widow  is  an  open  boat  with  no  superstructure 
or  canopy  of  any  sort?  If  I  have,  let  me  state 
here  that  her  lines  are  very  decollete  and  a  large 
wave  meets  with  little  obstruction  save  the  pas- 
sengers when  it  starts  to  travel  from  the  bow 
to  the  stern. 

"She  shall  be,  by  Yimminy  Christmas,  dam' 
choppy,"  Bill  commented.  "The  wind  she  shall 
haul  to  the  south  and  make  cross  waves." 

He  was  absolutely  correct.  As  soon  as  we 
left  the  mouth  of  the  cove  we  went  through 
some  evolutions  which  I  would  have  said  it  was 
absolutely  impossible  for  a  man  of  my  build  to 
perform.  I  was  favorably  considering  the 
idea  of  being  sea-sick  when  a  larger  wave  than 
usual  washed  over  and  struck  the  engine.  It 
expired  peacefully  on  the  spot. 


VOYAGE  OF  THE  MERRY  WIDOW    233 

"What  has  happened?"  I  asked,  with  a  lands- 
man's justified  terror. 

"The  engine  has  stopped.5*  Bill's  calm  state- 
ment of  the  obvious  exasperated  me. 

"Of  course  it  has  stopped.  Can  we  ever 
start  it  again  ?" 

"Sure.  She  shall  run  some  more.  The 
wave,  she  short  circuit  the  spark.  See,"  Bill 
pointed,  "she  all  wet."  His  enthusiasm  as  a 
lecturer  on  the  gasoline  engine  made  him  for- 
get the  lake  outside. 

It  was  brought  to  his  attention  by  a  large 
wave  which  tipped  us  on  our  beam  ends  and 
dropped  Bill  and  myself  in  an  affectionate 
group  into  the  stern  of  the  boat,  where  we  were 
joined  presently  by  a  collection  of  oil  cans, 
wrenches,  grease  cans,  and  other  marine  im- 
pedimenta. 

Bill  removed  his  elbow  from  the  pit  of  my 
long  since  hopeless  stomach  and  scrambled  to 
the  engine. 

"She  ain't  hurted  a  bit,"  he  announced. 
"Lend  me  your  handkerchief." 

I  silently  passed  him  the  article  he  desired. 
He  carefully  wiped  off  a  large  part  of  the  en- 


234  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

gine  with  it  before  he  offered  it  back  to  me. 
I  declined  and  told  him  to  consider  it  my  con- 
tribution to  the  equipment  of  the  boat. 

"Now,  sare,"  he  directed,  "you  must  hold  the 
coat  over  the  spark  so  she  shall  not  get,  by  Yee 
Vizz,  again  wet." 

He  showed  me  how  to  protect  the  engine 
from  the  elements  by  interposing  my  coat  and 
my  shivering  body  between  it  and  the  waves. 
This  being  accomplished  he  started  the  ma- 
chinery and  we  lurched  forth  into  the  night 
once  more. 

From  time  to  time  I  caught  a  tubful  of  lake 
on  my  back  and  it  would  slowly  trickle  down 
through  my  clothing  to  my  shoes.  I  had  time 
between  waves  that  came  over  to  get  one  siza- 
ble batch  of  water  partly  warmed  up  before 
another  struck  me.  I  must  have  taken  the 
chill  off  several  hundred  barrels  of  water  on 
that  trip. 

There  was  one  consolation.  I  was  too  busy 
and  uncomfortable  in  other  ways  to  be  sea- 
sick. Standing  in  a  strained  position,  my  feet 
braced  against  the  lee  scuppers  or  the  balloon 


VOYAGE  OF  THE  MERRY  WIDOW    235 

jib  or  something  nautical  like  that,  my  back 
bent  and  my  arms  holding  my  coat  over  a  crip- 
pled threshing-machine  disguised  as  a  marine 
engine,  I  had  no  attention  to  spare  for  any 
merely  internal  disturbance. 

Bill  split  his  time  between  steering  and 
mending  the  engine,  keeping  up  a  running  fire 
of  conversation,  not  with  me  but  with  the  mo- 
tor. When  she'd  cough  weakly,  Bill  would  hit 
her  in  some  apparently  tender  spot  with  the  flat 
of  a  monkey  wrench  and  say,  "Come  on, 
Merry,  you  shan't  stop.  I  knock  the  carbon 
off  your  waives — now  you  feel  better." 

Then  the  engine  would  pick  up  and  run  quite 
smoothly  for  a  hundred  explosions  or  so,  before 
she'd  go  wrong  in  another  place.  Bill's  chief 
claim  to  distinction  as  a  gasoline  engineer  lies 
in  the  fact  that  no  matter  what  went  wrong  he 
did  not  let  that  engine  entirely  cease  its  activi- 
ties until  we  reached  the  dock  at  Huntingdon's 
Island. 

After  I  had  filled  my  lungs  with  a  little  un- 
diluted air,  I  picked  up  a  heavy  wrench  to  use 
as  a  weapon  and,  directing  Bill  to  arm  himself 


236  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

likewise  and  follow  as  quietly  as  possible,  I  set 
out  up  the  path  leading  from  the  dock,  which 
doubtless  ended  at  the  Huntingdon  domicile. 

The  moon  was  up  now,  and  though  occasion- 
ally darkened  for  a  moment  by  flying  clouds 
there  was  sufficient  light  for  us  to  proceed 
rapidly. 

A  turn  of  the  path  brought  us  in  range  with 
an  illuminated  window.  Either  someone  was 
in  the  house  of  which  the  window  was  a  part  or 
had  only  very  recently  left  it.  I  laid  my  hand 
on  Bill  Johnson's  arm,  counselling  caution,  and 
led  the  way  off  from  the  path  and  through  the 
shrubbery  to  a  position  near  the  house,  but  a 
little  to  one  side  of  the  window. 

Clearly  it  was  up  to  me  to  look  in  and  see 
what  was  in  that  room.  A  dread  of  what  I 
might  see,  not  unmixed  with  a  little  wholesome 
fear  for  my  personal  safety,  took  possession  of 
my  heart.  Suppose  someone  were  waiting  in- 
side to  shoot  at  the  first  head  which  appeared 
in  the  light.  However,  I  had  come  a  long  way 
to  find  out  what  had  happened  in  that  house 
and  I  forced  myself  to  be  courageous.  I  crept 
to  the  lower  corner  of  the  window  and  quickly 


VOYAGE  OF  THE  MERRY  WIDOW    237 

raised  my  head  so  as  to  bring  the  interior  of 
the  room  within  range  of  one  eye. 

There  was  no  one,  nothing  human  or  that 
had  been  human,  in  sight  in  that  part  of  the 
room  which  I  could  see.  The  lamp,  sitting 
peacefully  on  a  deal  table  shed  its  mellow  rays 
on  surroundings  and  furniture  which  pro- 
claimed the  room  to  be  the  kitchen. 

I  crept  back  to  Bill. 

"No  one  in  sight,"  I  reported.  "There  is 
someone  in  there  I  want  to  surprise,  to  play  a 
joke  on,  so  I  am  going  to  break  in  the  door." 

"Ha !  Ha !"  laughed  Bill  boisterously,  before 
I  could  check  him.  "She  shall  be  dam'  funny 
yoke.  I  been  comical  cuss  myself." 

My  explanation  would  have  sounded  a  trifle 
thin  to  anyone  but  Bill,  and  even  to  this  day  I 
have  misgivings  about  my  ethical  right  to  lead 
a  trusting  stranger,  even  a  motor-boat  repair 
man,  into  what  might  have  been  serious  danger 
without  warning  him  first.  However,  I  didn't 
think  of  that  then. 

We  felt  our  way  to  the  door,  which  was  a 
solid  one  of  plain  wood  with  no  glass  panels. 


238  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Could  you  knock  that  off  from  its  hinges?" 
I  whispered. 

"I  bet,"  Bill  replied.     "Easy." 

"All  right  then.  Get  ready.  One — two — 
three!" 

Crash!  Bill  sprang  at  the  door  and  it  fell 
inward,  letting  him  sprawl  half  way  across  the 
room. 

I  stepped  across  the  threshold  and  levelled 
my  monkey  wrench  like  a  revolver. 

"Throw  up  your  hands,"  I  commanded. 

To  my  surprise  I  found  that  I  was  address- 
ing a  whiskered  individual,  clad  in  white  swim- 
ming tights  only,  who  was  backed  up  against  a 
door  in  a  far  corner  of  the  room.  He  threw 
up  one  hand,  keeping  the  other  one  behind 
him. 

"Up  with  the  other  hand,"  I  shouted,  advanc- 
ing into  the  room  to  get  a  better  view  of  its  oc- 
cupant but  keeping  sufficiently  in  the  shade  of 
the  lamp  so  that  the  real  nature  of  my  weapon 
would  not  be  immediately  evident.  "Throw  up 
your  other  hand !" 

"I  can't,"  said  my  prisoner  stubbornly. 


VOYAGE  OF  THE  MERRY  WIDOW    239 

"Can't?"  I  repeated  in  surprise.  'Why 
can't  you  ?" 

"Because  I've  got  my  thumb  over  the  key- 
hole and  there  is  a  woman  on  the  other  side 
trying  to  peek  through !" 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 
A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

SOMETHING  about  the  quality  of  that  voice 
seemed  familiar.  I  grabbed  the  lamp  from  the 
table  and  held  it  so  the  full  light  fell  on  his 
face. 

"Lipton  S.  Clair,"  I  exclaimed.  "You 
here!" 

"I  admit  that  I  did  not  expect  to  be  recog- 
nized in  this  island  wilderness,"  he  began 
pompously,  careful  to  gesticulate,  however, 
only  with  his  free  hand,  "but  why  should  I  not 
be  here  as  well  as  anywhere  else?" 

"Because  when  I  saw  you  last  you  were  going 
to  swim  to  the  mainland." 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded  in  turn,  try- 
ing to  see  past  the  light  which  I  held  in  front 
of  me. 

"Montmorency  Blarney,"  I  replied. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand."    Then  suddenly 

he  shrank  more  closely  into  the  doorway.     "Is 

243 


244  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

that  woman — my  fiancee — Miss  Dunmore — 
with  you?" 

I  reassured  him  and  asked  him  how  he  came 
to  be  where  I  had  found  him. 

"I  found  the  swimming  a  trifle  more  strenu- 
ous than  I  had  expected,"  he  began,  "and  I 
must  have  been  carried  off  my  course  by  storm 
currents.  Anyway,  I  discovered  that  it  was 
practically  impossible  for  me  either  to  reach 
the  mainland  or  to  get  back  to  Green's  Island. 
The  general  trend  of  the  waves  was  in  this  di- 
rection and  I  was  forced  to  go  along,  saving 
my  strength  for  keeping  my  head  above  water. 

"The  rest  of  my  story  is  absurdly  simple.  I 
saw  land  here  and  came  ashore.  It  was  not 
quite  dark  and  I  came  up  the  path  to  the  house 
without  noticing  the  light  in  the  window.  I 
had  no  thought  of  there  being  any  inhabitants 
and  my  intention  was  to  rummage  around  until 
I  found  something  to  eat  and  some  dry  clothes. 

"As  soon  as  I  opened  the  door  I  saw  that  I 
had  committed  a  social  blunder.  There  was  a 
woman  standing  at  the  telephone  and  when  she 
saw  me  she  screamed  and  ran  through  this 
door,  slamming  and  locking  it  after  her.  It 


A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF     245 

was  useless  to  try  to  explain  to  a  frightened 
female  the  innocuous  nature  of  my  visit,  so  I 
refrained.  I  was  about  to  partake  of  some  of 
the  food  I  found  on  the  table  there  when  I 
heard  the  key  being  carefully  withdrawn  from 
the  lock  on  the  other  side.  Quick  as  a  flash  I 
asked  myself  the  question,  'Why  do  people 
withdraw  the  keys  from  locked  doors?'  The 
answer  struck  me  instantly.  'So  that  they  may 
look  through  the  keyholes,  of  course/  I 
recollected  my  costume.  With  one  bound  I 
jumped  to  the  door  and  put  my  thumb  over  the 
keyhole,  where  it  has  been  ever  since." 

"The  little  boy  who  saved  the  dikes  in  Hol- 
land has  nothing  on  you."  I  saw  that  he  ex- 
pected praise,  so  I  gave  it  to  him.  "But  if  you 
have  been  here  surely  you  have  heard  the  tele- 
phone bell  ringing." 

"Yes,  it  has  been  making  an  infernal  racket 
ever  since  I  arrived,  but  how  could  I  leave  my 
post  to  answer  it?"  He  helplessly  waved  his 
free  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  keyhole. 

"Ouch !  Stop !"  he  yelled,  jerking  his  thumb 
away  and  dancing  up  and  down  frantically. 

"What  has  happened?" 


246  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"She  jabbed  a  pin  into  my  thumb.  I'm 
bleeding  to  death.  Put  your  thumb  over  the 
keyhole  a  minute  while  I  swear." 

I  was  about  to  do  that,  foolish  as  it  was, 
when  there  was  the  sound  of  a  rifle  shot  some- 
where outside  and  almost  simultaneously  the 
lamp  which  I  held  fell  apart  in  my  hand  and 
crashed  to  the  floor. 

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  laughed  Bill  Johnson  in  the 
darkness.  "I  see  the  yoke  now." 

"What  happened?"  Clair  asked. 

"Some  one  shot  out  the  light." 

"What  for?" 

"I  can't  imagine.  I  assure  you  that  I  wasn't 
expecting  it  any  more  than  you  were.  If  I 
had  been  I  would  have  allowed  you  to  hold  the 
lamp." 

Any  further  conversation  was  cut  short  by  a 
scattering  fusillade  of  shots,  some  of  which 
came  through  the  window,  as  we  could  tell  by 
the  tinkle  of  glass. 

"This  is  a  regular  attack."  Clair  may  have 
been  an  egotistical  ass,  but  I  must  give  him 
credit  for  not  showing  fear  under  fire.  "What 
shall  we  do?" 


A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF     247 

"As  we  have  no  weapon  with  which  to  fight 
back  I  suppose  we  had  better  surrender.  Let's 
display  a  flag  of  truce." 

"All  right.     Use  your  handkerchief." 

I  reached  in  my  pocket.  Then  I  remem- 
bered that  I  had  donated  my  handkerchief  to 
Bill  for  wiping  off  the  engine.  I  explained 
briefly  to  Clair. 

Bill  likewise  proved  guileless  of  a  mouchoir. 

"Anything  white  will  do,"  Clair  suggested. 

"Then  tear  off  a  piece  of  your  bathing  suit." 

"No,"  he  protested,  amid  a  further  rattle  of 
musketry.  "I  can't  spare  any." 

Fortunately  any  further  discussion  proved 
unnecessary.  Our  assailants  apparently  dis- 
covered that  we  were  not  putting  up  a  very 
formidable  resistance,  for  the  fusillade  ceased 
and  a  moment  later  a  voice  at  the  door  ex- 
claimed, "Resistance  is  useless.  Every  corner 
of  the  room  is  covered.  John,  show  a  light." 

A  bull's  eye  flashed  into  the  room  and  re- 
vealed us  blinking  in  its  glare. 

"Do  you  surrender?" 

"I  do,"  I  promised,  as  solemnly  as  if  I  were 
going  through  the  marriage  ceremony. 


248  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Humph!  Desperate  characters!"  declared 
the  voice  in  the  doorway.  "Light  up  a  few 
lamps." 

Several  men  entered  and  lit  two  kerosene 
lamps  which  they  found  in  a  cupboard  and  a 
lantern  which  seemed  to  belong  to  their  party. 

In  the  illumination  thus  afforded  I  could 
make  out  at  least  a  dozen  men  of  the  type 
which  is  indigenous  to  the  bench  in  front  of  the 
small  town  grocery  store.  Just  now,  however, 
they  were  doing  an  imitation  of  the  vigilance 
committee  in  the  Third  Act  of  "The  Vir- 
ginian." One  carried  a  coil  of  half-inch  rope 
and  all  were  armed  with  weapons  which  ranged 
from  shotguns  to  horse  pistols.  One,  a  little 
better  dressed  than  the  rest,  carried  a  camera, 
which  he  proceeded  to  set  up  in  one  corner  of 
the  room. 

"Ye're  arrested,"  announced  the  original 
speaker,  a  rather  heavy  set  man  with  gray 
moustaches  of  the  trailing  arbutus  type.  "I'm 
the  sheriff." 

He  displayed  a  brilliant  new  star  pinned  to 
a  suspender  bordering  a  shirt  front,  which 
was  slightly  discolored  by  tobacco,  betraying 


A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF    249 

rather  imperfect  marksmanship  on  the  part  of 
the  wearer. 

"Arrested  ?"  Clair  demanded.     "What  for  ?" 

"Fer  wilful  murder."  The  sheriff  shivered 
slightly  as  he  spoke.  "Ain't  that  so,  boys  ?" 

A  growl  from  the  warlike  posse  answered 
him. 

"Lynch  'em,"  yelled  the  man  who  carried  the 
rope,  apparently  fearful  lest  he  had  brought 
his  burden  in  vain. 

"Aye,  that's  it.  String  'em  up."  These 
and  other  enthusiastic  cries  reassured  him. 

"Now  wait  a  minute,  boys."  The  sheriff 
turned  a  cold  eye  on  his  enthusiastic  retinue 
and  spat  with  a  fair  degree  of  accuracy  at  the 
kitchen  stove.  "While,  as  a  private  individool, 
I  have  to  admit,  boys,  that  I  would  enjoy  a 
lynchin'  as  much  as  any  of  you,  still  I  have  to 
remember  that  I  have  a  duty  to  perform,  a 
sacred  trust,  namely,  to  wit,  to  uphold  the 
majesty  of  the  law  in  Maskeloon  County." 

A  murmur  of  applause  among  his  henchmen 
made  it  evident  that  they  were  used  to  oratory 
from  their  chief. 

"But  we've  never  had  a  lynching  in  this 


250  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

county,"  protested  the  bloodthirsty  man  with 
the  rope,  "and  they've  had  two  over  Lake 
County  way." 

Local  pride  nearly  swayed  the  sheriff  against 
us,  but  at  last  he  held  up  his  hand. 

"I  can't  allow  it,  boys,"  he  said  regretfully. 
"All  we  can  do,  accordin'  to  the  law,  is  to  take 
'em  to  jail." 

"Before  I  move  out  of  this  place,"  Lipton  S. 
Clair  protested,  "I've  got  to  have  some  clothes." 

"All  right,  son,"  soothed  the  sheriff,  "there 
ain't  any  call  to  get  hectic  about  it.  Si,"  turn- 
ing to  one  of  the  others,  "see  if  there  ain't  some 
old  clothes  in  that  closet  in  the  hired  help's 
room." 

Si  departed  and  soon  returned  with  a  gar- 
ment known  in  history  as  a  "Mother  Hubbard," 
so  called  because  of  its  resemblance  to  a  squash. 

"This  is  all  I  could  find,"  Si  reported.  "The 
Huntingdons'  help  was  a  female  woman." 

"That'll  do,"  the  sheriff  said  briefly,  tossing 
it  to  Clair.  "Put  this  on  without  any  argu- 
ments and  we'll  be  on  our  way." 

Clair  thought  of  protesting,  but  was  over- 
come by  the  idea  of  the  woman  in  the  next  room 


A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF     251 

and  hastily  'donned  the  garment,  which  was 
cut  on  lines  designed  to  cover  any  sort  of  fig- 
ure which  nature  could  turn  out.  The  effect 
of  the  dress  plus  the  whiskers  was  startling,  to 
say  the  least. 

"Before  we  go/'  the  sheriff  decided,  "we  had 
best  have  a  look  at  the  remains."  To  me  he 
said,  "Where  is  the  deceased?  Where  is  Mrs. 
Green?" 

"Mrs.  Green  hasn't  been  murdered,"  I 
started  to  set  him  straight. 

"I  didn't  ask  how  she  met  her  death,"  the 
sheriff  thundered.  "Of  course  I  don't  expect 
you  to  admit  you  killed  her.  All  I  asked  was 
where  she  is,  and,  by  George,  I'll  have  an  an- 
swer. Where  is  she?" 

I  pointed  silently  at  the  locked  door. 

"Boys,"  said  the  sheriff  with  emotion,  "a 
poor  defenceless  woman  lies  beyond  that  door 
foully  done  to  death  by  these  here  ruffians. 
Smith,  Wadsworth,  Clancy,  Snider,  you  will 
act  as  ambulance  department." 

Four  of  his  comedians  went  toward  the  door. 

"Wait,"  the  leader  commanded.  "Before 
you  enter  that  room,  take  off  them  hats." 


252  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

The  four  nondescript  hats  came  off  silently. 
Then  they  discovered  that  the  door  was  locked. 
However,  that  proved  only  a  slight  obstacle, 
for  the  lock  was  easily  forced. 

It  struck  me  as  funny  that  Mrs.  Green  had 
not  walked  out  on  the  scene  before  this,  or  fail- 
ing in  that,  that  she  had  made  no  outcry  when 
her  retreat  was  invaded.  A  strange  chill, 
premonition  of  coming  disaster,  gripped  my 
heart. 

The  four  men  re-entered,  carrying  reverently 
a  limp  figure,  which  was  unmistakably  Mrs. 
Green.  Had  she  been  struck  by  a  stray  bullet 
from  the  attacking  party?  If  she  had,  things 
certainly  were  looking  black  for  Clair  and  my- 
self. We  had  no  way  of  proving  that  we  were 
innocent  and  all  circumstantial  evidence  would 
be  against  us.  We  had  been  found  alone  on 
the  island  with  her. 

The  hostility  of  the  posse  increased  mark- 
edly with  the  return  of  the  four  men.  A  mur- 
mur of  anger  ran  around  the  room  and  the  man 
with  the  rope  fingered  it  nervously. 

"Steady,  boys."     The  sheriff  checked  them. 

"One  moment."     The  young  man  with  the 


A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF     253 

camera  held  up  his  hand.  "Stand  just  where 
you  are;  don't  move." 

There  was  a  blinding  flash  and  my  over- 
wrought nerves  jumped  seven  feet  and  re- 
bounded before  my  brain  assured  them  that  it 
was  only  a  flashlight.  (Memo:  Organize  So- 
ciety for  the  Prevention  of  Flashlights.) 

The  effect  on  the  four  members  of  the  am- 
bulance squad  was  even  more  startling.  Ap- 
parently not  expecting  the  explosion  they 
dropped  their  burden  and  stood  with  mouths 
open.  Accidentally  they  dropped  the  body  in 
a  sitting  posture. 

There  was  a  slight  scream.  Mrs.  Green 
opened  her  eyes  and  demanded,  "Where  am  I  ?" 

If  the  officers  of  the  law  had  been  startled 
before,  their  condition  now  was  absolute  con- 
sternation. 

"Madame,"  the  sheriff  enquired,  "aren't  you 
dead?" 

"I  should  say  not!" 

"Then  you  are  not  Mrs.  Green." 

"I  certainly  am." 

"But  Mrs.  Green  is  dead.  Her  daughter 
told  us  so." 


254  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Dead!  Fiddlesticks!  It's  a  wonder  I'm 
not,  though,  after  coming  over  here  in  an  open 
boat  and  being  attacked  by  a  half-naked  savage 
with  whiskers  and,  let's  see — some  one  was  shot 
— that's  when  I  fainted,  I  guess,  because  I  don't 
remember  anything  more  until  just  now." 

"All  I  have  to  say,"  stated  the  man  with  the 
rope,  jamming  his  hat  on  disrespectfully,  "is 
that  this  is  a  bum  night  to  get  a  man  out  to  play 
a  joke  on  him." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,"  Mrs. 
Green  murmured,  overawed  by  the  disapproval 
of  the  men.  "I  can't  see  that  I've  done  any- 
thing." 

"Madame,"  the  sheriff  said,  with  gloomy  po- 
liteness, "you  have  spoiled  the  only  murder 
case  we  ever  had  in  Maskeloon  County,  that's 
what  you  have  done.  Come  on,  boys." 

In  majestic  silence  the  members  of  the  sher- 
iff's posse  filed  from  the  room.  The  young 
man  with  the  camera  was  left  behind,  hastily 
picking  up  his  traps  in  order  to  join  the  others 
before  their  boat  left  the  island. 

I  approached  him. 

"Now  that  there  is  no  murder  mystery,"  I 


'I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,"  Mrs.  Green  murmured,  overawe 
"  Madame,"  the  sheriff  said,  with  gloomy  politeness, 
Maskaloon  County,  that's  what  you  ha 


the  disapproval  of  the  men.    "I  can't  see  that  I've  done  anything." 
a  have  spoiled  the  only  murder  case  we  ever  had  in 
one.     Come  on,  boys."     See  Page  254 


A  DISAPPOINTED  SHERIFF     255 

began,  "I  presume  that  the  picture  you  took 
will  be  useless." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  too  busy  folding 
up  his  tripod  to  notice  that  I  had  opened  the 
shutter  of  his  camera.  "We'll  find  use  for  it 
some  way." 

I  lit  a  match  and  held  it  about  an  inch  from 
the  lens  of  the  camera,  pretending  to  examine 
the  name  of  the  maker  on  it. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  demanded 
sharply. 

"Just  looking  at  your  lens,"  I  answered, 
blowing  out  the  match.  "It's  a  Dalmeyer,  I 
see." 

"Yes.  I  was  afraid  something  might  hap- 
pen to  that  negative.  I  left  the  film  in  the 


camera." 


"Did  you?"  I  asked  innocently  and  closed 
the  shutter  once  more  unobserved.     "Mav  we 

0 

have  one  of  the  pictures  if  they  turn  out  well  ?" 
He  paused  on  the  threshold  with  a  smile. 
"If  this  picture  turns  out  well,"  he  said, 
"nearly  everybody  in  the  United  States  will 
have  a  copy  of  it.     I'm  a  photographer  for  the 
Haniman  Syndicate  of  Newspapers." 


256  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  I  answered,  return- 
ing his  smile. 

After  he  was  gone  I  added,  "That's  why  I 
let  that  negative  get  light-struck." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 
BACK  TO  GREEN'S  ISLAND 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

I  TURNED  wearily  to  my  ill  assorted  compan- 
ions. They  were  sitting  silently  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  table. 

"Pardon  me,"  I  murmured,  "I  believe  that 
you  have  not  met.  Mrs.  Green,  this  is  Mr. 
Lipton  S.  Clair." 

They  bowed  stiffly  to  one  another. 

"Is  he  the  one  who  wrote  the  article  about 
fasting?"  Mrs.  Green  asked  me,  again  ignoring 
her  vis-a-vis. 

"He  is,"  I  admitted. 

Mrs.  Green  said  nothing  further,  but  her 
thoughts,  I  know,  were  unbecoming  to  the 
president  of  the  Charles  Dickens  Reading  Club. 

"I  presume,"  Clair  stated  sourly,  "Mrs. 
Green  has  forgotten  that  she  stuck  a  hat-pin 
through  my  thumb  less  than  half  an  hour  ago." 

"It  was  not  a  hat-pin.  It  was  a  safety  pin, 
bent  out  straight.  I  was  afraid  it  would  not 

259 


26o  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

reach.  Was  that  your  thumb  you  held  over 
the  keyhole?" 

"It  was.  I  suppose  you  are  sorry  it  was  not 
my  eye." 

I  could  see  that  the  more  we  talked  the  worse 
the  situation  would  get,  so  I  interrupted  them. 
"We  might  as  well  go  back,"  I  suggested 
wearily,  surveying  my  companions.  "I  am 
going  to  the  mainland,  Mrs.  Green,  and  I  can 
leave  you  at  home  as  I  go  by." 

"You're  not  going  away,  Mr.  Blainey  ?"  Mrs. 
Green  asked,  with  motherly  kindness. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  queried  gently. 
"Lucile?  You  mustn't  let  her  fickleness  hurt 
you.  She  has  fads  in  beaux  as  well  as  fads  in 
foods  and  exercises." 

Advising  a  jealous  lover  not  to  care  is  a  good 
deal  like  giving  medicine  to  a  dead  man;  it 
doesn't  have  any  effect  one  way  or  the  other. 
I  appreciated  Mrs.  Green's  thoughtfulness,  but 
assured  her  with  what  dignity  I  had  left  that  I 
would  prefer  to  consider  my  visit  at  an  end. 

When  we  descended  to  the  shore  to  embark 
on  the  Merry  Widow  Mrs.  Green  took  one  look 


BACK  TO  GREEN'S  ISLAND     261 

at  the  lake  and  flatly  declined  to  travel  by  boat 
until  it  was  calm. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  came  over  here.  I 
couldn't  have  been  in  my  right  senses  even  to 
start,  but  I  certainly  am  perfectly  sane  now, 
and  as  long  as  I  remain  so  I  intend  to  stay  on 
dry  land  while  a  storm  is  in  progress." 

"But  your  daughter  will  worry,"  I  protested. 
"Lucile  has  been  very  nearly  distracted  for 
twenty-four  hours." 

"She  might  better  be  distracted  today  than 
an  orphan  on  her  mother's  side  tomorrow. 
Anyway,  I'll  telephone  her  that  I'm  all 
right." 

"But  we  can't  leave  you  here,"  I  renewed  my 
argument,  "and  I  have  to  go  back." 

"Perhaps  the  gentleman  here — "  Mrs.  Green 
began. 

"No,"  Clair  declined,  looking  at  his  thumb. 
"I  have  to  be  in  Fair  View  before  morning  to 
prevent  my  friend's  marriage." 

I  took  him  one  side. 

"You  can't  go  into  Fair  View  wearing  a 
Mother  Hubbard,"  I  reminded  him. 

"Well,  I  can  stop  and  get  my  own  clothes." 


262  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"On  Green's  Island?  And  meet  Miss  Dun- 
more  again  ?" 

"I'd  forgotten  about  her.     What  can  I  do?" 

"Stay  right  here  and  I'll  send  the  boat  back 
with  a  suit  of  clothes  in  an  hour." 

He  wavered. 

"Is  the  lady,  Mrs.  Green,  a  wife  or  widow?" 

"She  has  a  husband  living." 

"All  right,  then.  My  own  clothes,  that  I 
came  ashore  in  this  morning,  are  on  a  line  on 
the  back  porch,  where  I  hung  them  to  dry. 
Send  them  back  soon.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  if  Mrs.  Green  should  fall  in  love  with 
me." 

I  surveyed  him  from  the  hem  of  his  skirt  to 
the  tip  of  his  beard.  "As  long  as  you  have 
those  clothes  on,"  I  gravely  assured  him, 
"you're  as  safe  as  a  dollar  in  Hetty  Green's 
bank." 

Clair  suffered  himself  to  be  led  back  to  Mrs. 
Green,  to  whom  I  announced  the  arrangement 
which  we  had  made. 

Before  I  left,  Mrs.  Green  telephoned  to  Lu- 
cile  and  told  her  that  she  was  safe.  I  took  the 
liberty  of  ransacking  the  pantries  and  store- 


BACK  TO  GREEN'S  ISLAND     263 

room  of  the  Huntingdon  house  for  supplies 
and  carried  away  enough  tinned  stuff  to  assure 
the  garrison  at  Green's  Island  at  least  one 
square  meal. 

Bill  and  myself  embarked  alone.  I  carry 
with  me  yet  in  memory  the  picture  of  Mrs. 
Green  and  Lipton  S.  Clair  as  I  left  them,  two 
strangely  clad  figures,  one  in  a  red  ball-gown, 
the  other  in  a  calico  wrapper  and  whiskers,  hob- 
nobbing over  a  pot  of  tea. 

The  journey  back  was  uneventful.  The  sea 
had  calmed  down  enough  so  that  we  shipped 
very  little  water  and  the  motor  was  on  its  good 
behaviour.  When  we  landed  at  Green's  Island 
I  was  thankful  to  note  that  there  were  no  lights 
in  the  house.  Apparently  everyone  had  gone 
to  bed  for  a  much  needed  rest.  I  looked  at  my 
watch.  It  was  nearly  three  o'clock.  I  had 
plenty  of  time  to  finish  up  my  business  on 
Green's  Island  and  get  away  with  my  prisoner 
before  there  was  any  danger  of  anyone  wak- 
ing up. 

I  sent  Bill  up  to  get  Clair's  clothing  while  I 
unloaded  the  supplies  and  hid  them  under  the 
dock.  I  expected  to  telephone  Jim  in  the  morn- 


264  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

ing  and  tell  him  where  they  were,  so  that  he 
could  cook  breakfast  for  the  castaways.  Bill 
apparently  experienced  no  difficulty  in  finding 
the  clothes,  and  when  he  returned  I  helped  him 
put  out  to  sea  again.  This  required  consid- 
erable persuasion  and  three  dollars  in  money. 
I  also  had  to  promise  to  make  it  all  right  with 
the  newspaper  man  whom  he  had  brought  over 
in  the  first  place. 

I  made  that  promise  with  more  assurance 
than  I  had  any  right  to  feel,  considering  how 
much  I  had  to  make  right  with  that  young  man 
on  my  own  account  before  Bill  should  return  to 
take  us  to  the  mainland.  The  chances  were 
that  the  young  reporter  in  the  summer  house 
regarded  myself  and  Tootles  with  about  equal 
favor  at  that  moment,  but  I  set  out  resolutely 
to  convince  him  that  I  was  one  of  his  very  best 
friends. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 
A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE 


\ 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

IT  was  then  that  the  next  adventure  in  this 
Arabian  nightmare  occurred. 

I  happened  to  glance  at  the  house  to  wonder 
bitterly  if  Lucile  was  sleeping  peacefully  or  if 
her  conscience  troubled  her  slumbers  because 
of  her  unjust  treatment  of  me.  At  first  I 
thought  it  was  the  reflection  of  the  rising  sun 
in  the  windows  of  the  cottage  which  caused  the 
red  light,  but  when  I  looked  to  the  east  I  saw 
that  the  sun  was  not  up. 

Then  the  house  must  be  on  fire ! 

Clearly  I  had  no  time  to  lose.  Probably 
everyone  was  sleeping.  I  ran  up  the  path  from 
the  beach  to  the  house,  my  temples  bursting 
with  the  exertion.  Could  I  get  there  in  time  to 
save  the  entire  household  ? 

The  building  was  a  frame  one  and  offered 
little  resistance  to  fire.  By  the  time  I  got  to 
the  front  door  the  flames  were  beginning  to  lick 
out  of  one  of  the  upstairs  windows. 

367 


268  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

I  threw  myself  against  the  front  door  and 
broke  the  lock  without  ceremony.  Luckily  the 
downstairs  portion  was  not  touched  by  fire  as 
yet.  The  stairway  was  still  clear. 

I  dashed  up,  yelling  "Fire!"  as  loudly  as  I 
could. 

When  I  got  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  I  ran  into 
Captain  Perkins,  who  was  partially  dressed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  mildly. 

"Matter?"  I  repeated.  "The  house  is  on 
fire.  Didn't  you  know  it?" 

"No.  I  couldn't  sleep  and  I  got  up  and 
smoked  a  pipe  of  tobacco.  Then  I  wanted  a 
drink  and  I  been  having  the  durndest  time  find- 
ing any  water  in  the  house." 

I  paid  little  attention  to  what  he  was  saying, 
but  pounded  on  all  the  doors,  one  after  an- 
other. 

The  people  began  to  come  out  in  various 
stages  of  undress,  carrying  clothing  and  valua- 
bles. Vida's  stage  experience  stood  her  in  good 
stead.  She  emerged  from  her  room  com- 
pletely dressed  and  went  downstairs  as  if  she 
were  answering  a  rehearsal  call. 

All  were  accounted  for  but  Lucile. 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        269 

I  pounded  on  her  door  again  and  again. 

"Hurry!"  I  commanded  at  frequent  inter- 
vals. 

"I'm  hurrying,"  she  always  answered. 

At  last  the  smoke  began  to  be  unbearable  in 
the  hallway  and  the  crackling  of  the  flames 
warned  me  that  in  an  instant  the  stairs  would 
be  impassable. 

I  stood  on  ceremony  no  longer.  I  threw 
open  Lucile's  door  and  walked  into  that  young 
lady's  room.  She  was  standing  there  in  her 
night  gown,  looking  aimlessly  about  her,  with 
a  stocking  in  one  hand. 

"I  can't  find  my  other  stocking,"  she  an- 
nounced calmly. 

"Don't  be  excited,"  I  shouted.  "The  house 
is  on  fire  and  we've  got  to  get  out." 

"I'm  not  excited.  But  I  can't  find  but  one 
stocking.  How  can  I  escape  with  only  one 
stocking?" 

There  was  no  time  for  argument.  I  grabbed 
a  dressing-gown  or  kimono  that  was  flung  over 
the  foot  of  her  bed,  wrapped  her  in  it,  and 
swept  her  off  her  feet  and  into  my  arms. 

The  rescue  was  very  simple.     There  was  a 


270  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

little  smoke  on  the  stairway  and  in  a  minute  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  get  down,  but  as  it 
was  I  only  had  to  hold  my  breath  for  a  few  sec- 
onds and  we  were  safe  on  the  first  floor,  which 
had  not  caught  yet. 

However,  I  carried  Lucile  clear  out  in  the 
front  yard  and  deposited  her  in  the  little  group 
of  scantily  clad  survivors. 

"Where's  the  fire  department?"  asked  Vida, 
whose  experience  with  the  destroying  demon 
was  confined  to  Broadway  conflagrations. 

"There  isn't  any  fire  department,"  Kent  vol- 
unteered gently. 

"Can't  anything  be  done  ?" 

"Not  much  now."  I  shrugged  my  shoul- 
ders. "When  a  fire  gets  that  much  headway 
in  a  country  house  built  of  wood  there  is  noth- 
ing much  to  do  but  save  the  nearby  buildings. 
As  there  aren't  any  nearby  buildings  except 
the  shed  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  watch  it 
burn." 

"How  could  it  have  caught?"  asked  Bopp, 
trying  to  put  his  left  shoe  on  his  right  foot. 
He  had  carried  them  both  out  in  his  hands. 

"No  one  was  up,"  said  Jim,  the  fireman. 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE         271 

"How  did  you  come  to  be  around,  Monty?" 
Bopp  straightened  up  with  a  quick  glance  at 
me.  "Mrs.  Green  telephoned  that  you  were 
going  to  the  mainland." 

It  hardly  seemed  possible,  but  I  knew  that 
for  a  moment  they  all  suspected  me  of  having 
set  fire  to  Lucile's  house  in  revenge  for  our 
quarrel  of  the  evening  before. 

"I  came  back  to  the  island  for  something 
and  I  noticed  the  fire,"  I  explained  weakly. 
"The  flames  were  coming  out  of  the  window 
of  the  northeast  room." 

"Who  slept  there?"  Captain  Perkins  asked 
practically. 

No  one  answered. 

"That's  funny."  Captain  Perkins  was  sar- 
castic. "Didn't  anybody  sleep  in  the  north- 
east room?  Or  don't  you  know  where  you 
slept?" 

"You  slept  there  yourself,"  Jim  explained, 
rather  hesitant  about  calling  his  superior  offi- 
cer's attention  to  such  a  damning  fact. 

"Oh."  The  captain  collapsed.  "I  guess  I 
did." 

"Where  did  you  empty  the  ashes  of  your 


272  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

pipe  before  you  went  to  get  that  drink  of  wa- 
ter?" I  interrogated. 

"Why,  lemme  see.  I  must  have  dumped  'em 
in  the  waste  basket.  But  the  fire  was  all  out." 
The  captain  added  this  last,  bristling  with  self- 
defense  against  the  unspoken  accusation  of  his 

fellows. 

\ 

Any  further  discussion  was  cut  short  by  the 
violent  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell  inside  the 
burning  building. 

"Who  can  that  be  calling  up  at  this  time  of 
night?"  wondered  Vida,  voicing  the  general 
curiosity. 

"We  probably  will  never  know."  Bopp 
gazed  dreamily  into  the  fire.  "Maybe  some- 
one saw  the  blaze  from  the  mainland  and  is 
calling  up  about  it." 

"No,"  said  Lucile  with  conviction,  "it's  my 
mother.  She  has  seen  the  fire  from  Hunting- 
don's and  wants  to  know  if  I  am  safe.  We 
must  answer  it  and  tell  her  that  everything  is 
all  right." 

"No  one  could  go  in  there,"  I  protested. 
"The  fire  is  raging  in  the  living-room  and  the 
walls  may  fall  any  moment." 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        273 

"But  mother  will  worry." 

"What  if  she  does?"  A  man  under  stress 
of  excitement  is  sometimes  unintentionally 
brutal. 

"If  you  men  are  not  brave  enough,"  Lucile 
declared  with  eyes  flashing,  "if  you're  so  afraid 
of  getting  singed  I'm  going  in  to  answer  that 
telephone  myself,  and  tell  my  mother  that  I  am 
safe." 

"You  wouldn't  be  safe  if  you  were  talking 
over  that  telephone."  I  was  exasperated,  but 
it  was  impossible  to  allow  a  girl  in  a  flimsy 
nightdress  and  negligee  to  go  into  that  furnace. 
"Since  you  put  it  that  way,  I'll  go." 

Amid  a  storm  of  well  meant  protests  from 
the  others  I  left  them  and  made  a  quick  dash 
for  the  front  door,  dodging  the  falling  sparks. 
Once  inside,  the  atmosphere  was  a  trifle  clearer. 
Owing  to  the  terrific  draft  up  the  stairway 
most  of  the  smoke  went  that  way  instead  of 
spreading  through  the  main  room.  There  was 
plenty,  however,  and  the  roaring  of  the  flames 
made  a  very  unpleasant  accompaniment  to  the 
telephone  bell,  which  kept  on  ringing  with  un- 
diminished  insistence. 


274  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

I  groped  my  way  to  the  instrument,  jammed 
the  receiver  to  my  ear  and  shouted,  "Hello." 

"Sorry  to  waken  you,  old  chap,"  said  a  male 
voice  apologetically,  "but  I  simply  must  speak 
to  Miss  Dunmore." 

"You  go  to  hell,"  I  requested  loudly,  and 
dropping  the  receiver  made  a  wild  dash  for  the 
door,  from  which  I  emerged  with  my  clothing 
on  fire  in  only  one  or  two  spots. 

"Thank  you."  Lucile  was  very  sweet  in  be- 
stowing her  gratitude.  "Was  she  very  much 
worried  ?" 

"It  wasn't  your  mother,"  I  said  shortly.  "It 
was  Mr.  Blaney." 

"Ned?"  asked  Vida,  then  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  "I  must  speak  to  him." 

I  gently  restrained  her. 

"Blaney?"  queried  Lucile  blankly,  then  turn- 
ing to  me.  "Your  brother  ?" 

"No  relation,"  I  returned. 

"He's  my  fiance,"  Vida  explained.  "Just 
the  darlingest  old  Blaney  that  ever  lived.  He's 
waiting  for  me  at  Fair  View.  We  were  to 
have  been  married  today — or  yesterday, 
rather." 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        275 

"Oh."  Lucile  retired  to  her  inner  conscious- 
ness to  think. 

I  told  Vida  that  Blaney  knew  she  was  safe, 
as  he  had  called  up  several  times  during  the 
day. 

"Where  was  I?" 

"You  were  always  out  somewhere  with  Mr. 
Clair,"  I  explained. 

"You  didn't  tell  Ned  that,  did  you?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  guess  I  did.     Why?" 

"He's  so  jealous,"  sighed  Vida.  "It  makes 
him  furious  when  I  talk  to  other  men.  Of 
course  after  we're  married  I'll  train  him  dif- 
ferently, but  now  I  have  to  be  careful." 

Owing  to  the  heat  of  the  fire  it  was  probably 
not  uncomfortable  for  such  of  our  party  as  had 
not  escaped  with  a  complete  equipment.  Lu- 
cile's  plight  was  the  worst,  as  she  had  neither 
shoes  nor  stockings. 

Vida,  all  sympathy,  offered  to  give  her  part 
of  her  wardrobe  and  the  ladies  retired  to  the 
shed  to  effect  a  compromise  change,  Lucile  pro- 
testing that  she  would  not  think  of  depriving 
Vida  of  any  of  her  clothing. 

"I  guess  there  isn't  a  thing  saved,"  rumi- 


276  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

nated  Bopp  with  the  resignation  which  one  has 
on  viewing  another's  loss. 

"Shucks."  Captain  Perkins  was  also  re- 
signed. "They  carried  lots  of  insurance.  I 
writ  the  insurance  myself.  I  run  the  agency 
over  to  town.  They  got  five  thousand  dollars 
more  insurance  than  the  place  is  worth." 

"The  company  will  never  allow  it  on  a  total 
loss,"  I  remarked,  wise  to  the  business-like 
methods  of  insurance  companies  and  experi- 
enced in  the  eagle-eyed  ways  of  the  appraiser. 

"No,  I  reckon  not." 

"Then  why  did  you  let  them  take  out  so 
much  insurance?"  I  demanded. 

"I  didn't  think  they'd  ever  have  a  fire,"  he 
confessed  frankly,  "and  the  more  insurance  I 
wrote  the  more  commission  I  got." 

Our  attention  was  distracted  from  the  burn- 
ing building  by  the  arrival  of  Bill  Johnson  who 
walked  unannounced  into  the  circle  of  light. 
The  noise  of  the  Merry  Widow  arriving  had 
apparently  been  lost  in  the  crackling  of  the 
flames. 

"Well,"  I  enquired,  "were  Mrs.  Green  and 
Mr.  Clair  all  right?" 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        277 

"I  shall  not  know  it,"  Bill  replied  phleg- 
matically.  "I  can't  by  Yimminy  find  'em." 

"Can't  find  them?  Nonsense.  Did  you  go 
up  to  the  house?" 

"Yes,  sare.  And  I  look  in  all  the  rooms. 
No  one  shall  be  in  each." 

"They  can't  have  left.  Mrs.  Green  said  she 
wouldn't." 

"What's  up  now?"  Bopp  enquired. 

"Mrs.  Green  has  disappeared  once  more." 

"Eloped  with  Lipton  S.  Clair?" 

"Impossible.  You  haven't  seen  him  since 
he  left  here." 

"What  else  could  have  happened  ?" 

"I  can't  imagine.  It's  a  small  island  and 
there  would  be  no  sense  in  supposing  that  she 
was  hiding  anywhere  outside  of  the  house. 
Besides  they  both  knew  that  the  boat  was  com- 
ing back  soon  to  get  them." 

"Mrs.  Green  is  so  elusive,"  Bopp  criticized, 
"that  I  should  think  that  when  once  you  lo- 
cated her  you  would  have  kept  your  eye  on 
her." 

"If  I  had,"  I  reminded  him,  "you  would 
probably  all  be  burnt  to  cinders  now.  There 


278  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

must  be  some  plausible  reason  for  Mrs. 
Green's  disappearance.  Suppose  we  don't  tell 
her  daughter  right  away  until  we  try  to  find 
out  what  has  happened.  It  would  only  cause 
additional  worry  in  a  night  which  has  already 
been  more  of  a  strain  than  the  average  human 
constitution  is  accustomed  to  bear." 

That  was  agreed  upon. 

"At  any  rate,"  Bopp  said,  "we  can  all  go 
over  to  the  mainland  in  the  Merry  Widow  and 
get  breakfast." 

"No,"  declared  Bill,  shaking  his  head. 
"Merry  Widow,  she  shan't  run — she  broke  her 
waive  spring.  Maybe  it  take  all  day  to  fix  she 
up." 

"Then  for  heaven's  sake  get  at  it,"  Bopp 
growled  crossly.  "We  don't  want  to  stay  here 
any  longer  than  we  have  to.  It  was  bad 
enough  before  the  house  burned  down,  but 
now — "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  hope- 
lessly. 

"I  fix  him  up  wit'  some  wire,  maybe,"  Bill 
cheerfully  promised,  after  the  custom  of  those 
who  have  to  do  with  gasoline  engines.  Some 
of  the  most  promising  men  I  have  ever  met 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        279 

have  been  connected  with  the  motor  repair 
business. 

"Merry  Widow,"  said  Bill,  picking  up  a  dis- 
carded hairpin,  "she  been  dam'  good  boat  but 
her  waives  been  little  bit  old.  I  believe  she 
run  yust  so  good  now,  maybe  better,  as  she  did 
fifteen  year  ago." 

He  departed  once  more  to  be  with  his  float- 
ing darling,  his  hands  swinging  from  his  long 
arms  like  idle  sledge  hammers,  his  back  bent  in 
the  position  of  one  who  crouches  perpetually 
before  stalled  marine  motors. 

Lucile  and  Vida  rejoined  us  presently. 
The  former  was  wearing  the  kimono  in  which 
she  had  been  carried  out,  and  as  Vida  still  ap- 
peared to  be  fully  dressed,  it  was  not  patent,  to 
the  masculine  eye  at  least,  that  any  exchange  of 
apparel  had  been  made. 

About  this  time  the  sun  rose  resplendently. 

''Isn't  that  a  lovely  sky!"  Vida  exclaimed 
with  chastened  enthusiasm,  shivering  slightly. 
"It  reminds  me  of  a  stage  scene." 

"Sunrises  only  remind  me  of  breakfast," 
Captain  Perkins  groaned  lugubriously. 

I  started. 


28o  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"I  have  some  breakfast  for  you,"  I  an- 
nounced. 

"Soup?"  Bopp  uttered  the  word  sarcasti- 
cally. 

"Oh,  Tootles,"  murmured  Lucile. 

"I  forgot,"  I  said.     "Tootles  is  found." 

"What?" 

"I  found  your  dog,  Tootles,  last  night." 

"Oh,  my  darling." 

I  thought  at  first  she  meant  me  and  prepared 
to  be  aloof  but  not  too  aloof,  when  her  next 
words  showed  me  there  was  no  necessity. 

"Where  is  my  little  sweetheart  now?" 

"In  the  summer  house,"  I  replied  briefly. 

"Oh,  my  Tootles  girl,"  she  exclaimed, 
"locked  up  in  that  cold  barn  of  a  place  all 
night." 

"I  was  there,"  I  reminded  her.  "I  stood  it 
all  right." 

Lucile  started  out  as  fast  as  she  could  for 
the  summer  house. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  I  protested,  wishing  to  ex- 
plain about  the  other  occupant  of  Tootles' 
prison. 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        281 

"Wait?"  she  flashed  at  me.  "When  Too- 
tles wants  me  ?  Never !" 

She  had  a  good  start  but  I  went  after  her. 

"How  about  that  breakfast?"  Kent  yelled 
after  me. 

"Wait  till  I  come  back,"  I  returned  over  my 
shoulder. 

Lucile  broke  into  a  run  when  she  saw  that 
I  was  following  her  and  reached  the  door  of 
the  summer  house  first. 

When  I  arrived  I  heard  a  scream.  The  pic- 
ture was  a  trifle  startling.  On  the  floor  lay 
the  reporter,  his  face  twisted  up  into  an  ago- 
nized expression,  while  Tootles  stood  over  him, 
feebly  licking  his  face,  her  little  red  tongue 
hardly  able  to  wag,  but  still  determined  to 
make  this  lazy  person  get  up. 

"Oh,"  Lucile  screamed,  jumping  up  and 
down  in  her  excitement,  "he's  killing  Tootles !" 

I'm  afraid  I  laughed.  Anyway,  she  cast  a 
look  of  reproach  at  me  and  made  a  dive  for 
the  tired  little  pup.  I  don't  believe  Tootles 
appreciated  the  affection  which  was  lavished 
on  her  because  she  reluctantly  abandoned  her 


282  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

job  of  licking  and  dived  the  other  way.  That 
happened  to  be  in  the  direction  of  the  door, 
which  I  had  carelessly  left  open.  Tootles  went 
through  and  dashed,  barking,  up  the  beach. 
Lucile  followed  after. 

They  were  too  fast  for  me.  The  last  I  saw 
of  them  was  a.  tiny  bobbing  speck — that  was 
Tootles — and  a  larger  graceful  figure  with 
hair  blowing  free  and  kimono  flying  back — 
which  was  Lucile.  Once  she  stopped,  when 
she  was  nearly  out  of  sight,  and  took  off  the 
kimono  and  threw  it  aside  in  order  to  run 
freer. 

I  sighed  and  returned  to  the  summer  house. 

"What's  all  the  excitement?"  the  reporter 
demanded.  "Who's  the  pippin?" 

"We  had  a  fire,"  I  returned  wearily.  "Mr. 
Green's  house  burned  down." 

"Everybody  asleep,  I  suppose."  The  re- 
porter sketched  in  the  story  from  imagination. 
"You,  the  faithful  watchman,  see  the  flames, 
dash  into  the  burning  building  and  rescue  the 
owner's  beautiful  daughter.  It's  a  peach  of  a 
story." 

I  failed  to  reflect  his  enthusiasm. 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        283 

"It's  too  bad  you  can't  marry  her,"  he  added, 
eyeing  me  ruefully.  "You've  got  a  wife  and 
seven  kids,  I  suppose." 

"I  have  not,"  I  retorted. 

"Then  you  can  marry  her." 

"Thanks." 

"I  mean  you're  not  so  terribly  old  and  you 
might  look  all  right  if  you  washed  your  face 
and  had  some  decent  clothes." 

For  the  first  time  I  realized  that  I  must  be 
a  pretty  sad  looking  object,  sartorially  speak- 
ing at  least.  My  clothes  were  wet,  torn, 
singed  and  thoroughly  mussed  from  having 
been  slept  in  and  rained  on.  My  collar  had 
long  since  ceased  to  be  anything  better  than  a 
limp  rag. 

I  looked  at  him  sharply.  "What  size  collar 
do  you  wear?" 

For  an  instant  I  saw  his  glance  flicker  to  my 
neckband. 

"Fourteen  and  a  half,"  he  replied  glibly. 

I  grunted.     "I'll  have  a  look,  anyway." 

I  rolled  him  over  and  removed  the  collar  and 
necktie  as  carefully  as  possible.  It  was  a  fif- 
teen and  a  half. 


284  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Because  you  lied,  I  shall  confiscate  the 
necktie  also." 

I  looked  him  over  appraisingly. 

"No,"  he  shouted,  interpreting  my  glance, 
"you  couldn't  wear  another  thing  of  mine." 

"I'm  afraid  we  coincide  only  in  the  neck," 
I  sighed  regretfully. 

"Look  here,"  he  began  belligerently,  "don't 
you  think  this  farce  has  gone  far  enough?  I 
demand  to  be  released.  If  you  let  me  go  now, 
I'll  promise  not  to  have  you  put  in  jail,  and  if 
you'll  get  me  a  picture  of  Miss  Green,  I'll  give 
you  five  dollars." 

"No,"  I  decided  absently,  having  already 
made  up  my  mind  before  he  asked. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?  You 
can't  keep  me  here  indefinitely." 

"I  don't  know.  It  has  been  puzzling  me. 
You  know  more  about  crime  than  I  do;  what 
do  you  suggest?"  I  measured  the  height  of 
his  collar  with  my  eye.  "I  can't  say  that  I 
care  much  for  your  selection  of  collar  style." 

"If  you  aren't  going  to  let  me  go,"  continued 
the  young  man,  whose  mind  seemed  to  dwell 
constantly  on  himself,  "when  is  breakfast?" 


A  FIRE  AND  A  RESCUE        285 

"There,  you  have  ruined  an  otherwise  per- 
fect day.  No  one  knows  when,  where  or  what 
breakfast  is.  It  is  as  elusive  as  'Quf  est  que 
c'est  I'art?' " 

His  mind  did  not  follow  the  flight  of  mine. 
"No  breakfast?"  he  questioned. 

"Nope.     Nary  breakfast." 

He  sighed.  "There's  a  cigar  in  my — "  He 
started  to  tell  me  which  pocket,  when  he  recol- 
lected my  propensity  for  confiscating  his  prop- 
erty. 

"It's  all  right,"  I  reassured  him;  "I'm  not 
smoking  at  present." 

"In  my  left  hand  upper  vest  pocket,"  he 
finished. 

I  found  a  flat  leather  case  in  the  pocket  he 
had  indicated.  I  opened  the  case  and  a  hand- 
ful of  crumpled  tobacco  fell  out. 

"I'm  afraid  I  sat  on  it,"  I  said  apologetic- 
ally. 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  without  a 
word.  I  left  him  alone  with  the  dust  of  his 
last  cigar. 

When  I  had  gone  a  short  distance,  I  heard 
him  sneeze,  but  decided  not  to  return.  He 


286  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

might  acquire  the  habit  of  snuff-taking,  but  it 
surely  was  not  my  place  to  prevent  his  getting 
that  tobacco  into  his  system  by  the  only  channel 
available. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 
"THE  ONLY  WAY" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

WASHING  one's  face  in  a  large  ruffled  lake 
is  not  the  simple  process  you  would  imagine. 
It  consists  largely  of  going  through  the  mo- 
tions peculiar  to  reducing  exercises  and  get- 
ting your  feet  wet,  as  I  discovered  in  making 
my  toilet.  However,  it  can  be  done.  After 
I  had  aired  my  features  to  dry  them,  I  put  on 
the  purloined  collar.  This  was  also  a  triumph 
of  brute  force  over  the  cussedness  of  inani- 
mate things. 

The  collar  was  one  of  those  widely  adver- 
tised styles  with  a  slot  or  notch  in  front  instead 
of  a  buttonhole.  I  have  since  learned  that  no 
one  should  attempt  to  put  one  of  these  things 
on  without  first  taking  a  two  weeks'  corre- 
spondence course  in  the  subject,  with  diagrams. 
Also  it  is  more  difficult  to  do  the  trick  if  it  is 
a  secondhand  collar  because  the  notch  or  slot 
is  not  so  stiff  and  consequently  does  not  hold 
so  well.  I  did  not  know  all  this  at  the  time 

289 


290  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

and  I  never  would  have  got  harnessed  up  in  it 
at  all  if  I  hadn't  happened  to  invent  a  couple 
of  new  cuss  words,  which  seemed  to  make  it 
stay  put  long  enough  for  me  to  get  the  cravat 
tied  as  a  sort  of  reinforcement.  I  ordinarily 
wear  a  collar  not  more  than  half  an  inch  in 
height.  Putting  a  three-inch  white  wall 
around  my  neck  is  an  improvement  on  the 
invention  of  old  Dr.  Guillotine,  the  well-known 
throat  specialist. 

When  I  was  satisfied  that  I  had  done  the 
best  I  could  I  rejoined  the  disconsolate  group 
at  the  site  of  the  one-time  house.  There  were 
only  four  of  them,  Captain  Perkins,  Jim,  Vida 
and  Kent.  Lucile  had  not  returned. 

'Where's  Lucile?"  Vida  enquired. 

"Tootles  got  away,"  I  explained,  "and  she 
chased  her.  She'll  catch  her  presently  and 
come  back." 

"But  Tootles  is  here."  Vida  indicated  the 
dog  playing  around  the  shed.  "She  came  back 
quite  a  while  ago  with  this  in  her  mouth." 

Vida  held  up  the  torn  and  dirty  remnants  of 
what  had  been  Lucile's  kimono. 

"That's  Lucile's  kimono."     I  identified  it. 


"THE  ONLY  WAY?  291 

"But  where  is  Lucile?" 

An  idea  struck  me.  "What  was  she  wear- 
ing under  that  ?" 

"I  helped  her  put  on  my  costume,"  Vida 
vouchsafed;  "the  one  that  was  drying  in  the 
shed.  It  fits  her  beautifully." 

"Then  I  presume  that  you  will  find  Lucile 
over  there  behind  that  clump  of  bushes,"  I  haz- 
arded in  a  loud  tone  of  voice. 

There  was  a  sound  of  branches  breaking  and 
leaves  rustling  as  if  someone  were  beating  a 
hasty  retreat. 

"Oh,  I  see."  Light  dawned  on  Vida. 
"Just  let  her  alone.  She'll  get  used  to  them 
in  an  hour  or  so.  You  do  feel  kind  of  funny 
at  first.  Now  about  that  breakfast." 

"Yes,"  Bopp  chimed  in,  "produce  that  feast 
you  were  speaking  of.  With  the  dog  in  sight 
we'll  take  a  chance  on  anything  you've  pre- 
pared." 

"Sail  ho!"  cried  Jim. 

"Where  be  she?"  demanded  his  superior, 
who  scorned  nautical  language. 

"Just  coming  around  the  point,"  Jim  replied, 
pointing. 


292  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

Sure  enough,  a  fat  little  tug  boat  was  nosing 
her  way  comfortably  through  the  waves  into 
the  cove. 

"It's  the  revenue  tug!"  exclaimed  Captain 
Perkins,  whose  knowledge  of  lake  craft  was 
naturally  superior  to  that  of  the  rest  of  us. 

"A  revenue  tug?"  Bopp  repeated.  "What 
is  she  doing  here?" 

"Let's  go  and  find  out."  Vida  led  the  way 
down  to  the  dock. 

The  tug  came  in  as  far  as  she  dared,  and 
then  an  officer  came  ashore  in  a  dinghy.  He 
approached  our  party,  cap  in  hand. 

"Pardon  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  be- 
gan suavely,  taking  no  notice  of  our  dishevelled 
appearance,  "I  am  the  revenue  officer  in 
charge  of  this  district." 

A  wild  cry  of  "Help"  from  the  tug  startled 
us. 

"What's  that?"  we  exclaimed  in  various 
keys. 

The  cry  was  repeated,  this  time  with  a 
smothered  finish. 

"It's  just  a  couple  of  prisoners  we  captured 
this  morning,"  explained  the  officer. 


"THE  ONLY  WAY"  293 

"We  are  very  glad  to  see  you  and  your  boat," 
Bopp   stated,   doing  the  honors.     "We  have 
had  a  terrible  fire  here  and  if  you  will  set  us  • 
safely  ashore  at  Fair  View  we  shall  be  forever 
in  your  debt." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  replied,  "but  I  cannot  carry 
your  party  as  passengers.  Being  on  govern- 
ment service  my  duties  are  very  exacting. 
However,  I  shall  be  glad  to  notify  the  first  ves- 
sel I  meet  and  request  them  to  call  for  you." 

"But,  man,"  Bopp  exclaimed,  "we  have  been 
without  anything  to  eat  for  three  days.  Surely 
you  can't  refuse  to  take  us  to  some  place  where 
food  may  be  had." 

"You  forget  that  I  have  provided  food,"  I 
interposed. 

"I'm  trying  to  forget  it,"  Bopp  replied  with 
ungracious  impatience.  "I  want  regular  food. 
After  the  way  they  have  been  treated  already, 
I'm  not  going  to  insult  my  insides  with  any- 
thing containing  water  and  one  fish  scale  for 
flavoring." 

"The  lake  is  calming  down,"  the  officer 
pointed  out,  "and  you  can  surely  get  aid  soon. 
As  it  happens  we  are  hot  on  the  trail  of  a  gang 


294  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

of  smugglers  and  if  we  delay  now  the  chief 
operator  may  escape  us.  He  is  posing  as  a 
telephone  repair  man  employed  by  the  local 
company  in  Fair  View,  but  merely  uses  that 
position  to  cloak  his  criminal  operations.  He 
was  sent  to  Green's  Island  before  the  storm 
and  has  not  reported  back  to  the  office,  so  we 
presume  that  he  is  here  now." 

By  a  common  impulse  we  looked  for  Kent, 
He  was  not  among  us.  Apparently  he  had 
waited  to  hear  no  more  after  Captain  Perkins 
had  identified  the  boat  as  in  the  government 
revenue  service. 

"I  can't  believe  that  he  is  a  smuggler,"  Vida 
argued.  She,  like  the  rest  of  us,  had  conceived 
a  liking  for  the  young  man  whose  career  had 
been  so  varied  and  interesting.  "He  doesn't 
look  like  a  smuggler." 

'  "I'm  afraid  that  is  no  way  to  tell,"  the  rev- 
enue officer  said  pleasantly.  "The  worst 
smugglers  we  have  are  society  people,  you 
know.  Appearances  cut  no  figure  whatever. 
We  captured  two  of  his  accomplices  on  Hunt- 
ingdon's Island  this  morning,  and  when  we  get 
him  we  shall  have  wiped  out  one  of  the  worst 


"THE  ONLY  WAY"  295 

gangs  of  smugglers  operating  across  the  bor- 
der." 

At  the  mention  of  Huntingdon's  Island  we 
all  pricked  up  our  ears.  What  connection  did 
the  smugglers  have  with  the  disappearance  of 
Mrs.  Green  and  Lipton  S.  Clair? 

"While  you  were  on  Huntingdon's  Island," 
I  asked,  "did  you  see  anything  of  Mrs.  Green?" 

"Why,"  began  the  officer,  with  a  puzzled 
frown,  "one  of  our  prisoners  claims  to  be  a 
Mrs.  Green,  but  that  is  only  an  alias  for 
'Mother  Parrel,'  whose  portrait  is  in  the 
rogues'  gallery.  I  recognized  her  at  once." 

"Who  is  your  other  prisoner?"  I  had  an 
inkling  of  what  had  really  happened  at  Hunt- 
ingdon's Island  since  I  had  left  it. 

"The  other  one  is  a  man  masquerading  in 
woman's  clothes.  He  refuses  to  give  his 
name,  but  I  think  he  is  Dan  Maloney,  a  rather 
high  class  crook  who  does  smuggling  only  as 
a  side  line  for  grand  larceny." 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  the  wrong  parties." 
I  smiled  as  I  thought  of  Lipton  S.  Clair's  out- 
raged dignity.  "The  lady  really  is  Mrs. 
Green,  and  the  gentleman  is  not  Dan  Maloney 


296  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

but  Mr.  L.  S.  Clair,  a  well-known  literary 
man." 

The  revenue  officer's  face  fell,  then  a  sus- 
picious look  came  into  his  eyes.  "How  do  I 
know  that  you  are  not  one  of  the  gang  yourself 
and  this  is  merely  a  trick  to  get  us  to  release 
your  pals  ?  What  was  Mrs.  Green  doing  over 
there  anyway?" 

"She  was  out  in  a  small  boat  and  was  blown 
over  there  during  the  storm,"  Vida  volun- 
teered, seeing  that  I  had  run  out  of  explana- 
tions. 

She  turned  her  four  hundred  candle-power 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  officer.  He  re- 
ceived the  blow  right  between  the  eyes.  "Miss 
Green,"  he  addressed  her  huskily,  "I  cannot 
refuse  to  take  your  word.  I'll  have  the  pris- 
oners brought  ashore  and  if  the  lady  is  really 
your  mother  I  shall  be  glad  to  release  her  in- 
stantly." 

Vida  did  not  correct  his  mistake,  but  asked, 
"How  do  you  know  I  am  Miss  Green?" 

"Oh,  I'd  know  you  anywhere,"  he  bragged, 
smiling.  "I've  seen  your  photograph  in  the 
newspapers  so  often." 


"THE  ONLY  WAY"  297 

So  he  had,  but  not  with  the  name  of  Lucile 
Green  attached  to  it. 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  your  kind- 
ness." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  returned.  Then  addressing 
the  man  in  the  dinghy,  "Smith." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"Report  to  Marshal  Cochran  on  board  and 
ask  him  to  bring  his  prisoners  ashore." 

The  man  departed  and  after  an  interval  re- 
turned with  three  passengers,  two  of  them  un- 
mistakably Mrs.  Green  and  Mr.  Clair,  the 
other  a  United  States  federal  officer.  Mrs. 
Green  was  decorated  with  a  handkerchief, 
which  was  tied  over  her  mouth. 

"I  had  to  gag  the  dame,"  explained  the  mar- 
shal; "she  kept  yelling  all  the  time." 

The  look  which  the  dishevelled  lady  in  the 
red  ball-gown  cast  upon  Uncle  Sam's  represen- 
tative probably  burned  a  hole  in  his  aura  which 
will  never  heal  up. 

"Remove  the  gag,"  the  revenue  officer  com- 
manded. 

"Wait,"  Vida  requested;  "wait  until  after  I 
have  identified  her." 


298  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

That  was  a  wonderful  inspiration  on  Vida's 
part.  As  the  two  women  had  never  set  eyes 
on  each  other  before,  Mrs.  Green  might  not 
address  Vida  as  her  own  offspring  as  soon  as 
the  power  of  speech  was  restored  to  her. 

"If  you  say  she  is  your  mother  it  is  all  right," 
said  Vida's  new  conquest,  gallantly.  "You 
may  remove  the  handkerchief  yourself  if  you 
like.  I  trust  your  mother  will  forgive  us  for 
our  blunder.  Can  you  identify  the  gentleman, 
too?" 

"She  doesn't  know  me,"  Clair  muttered,  with 
a  look  of  terror.  "I  don't  want  to  be  iden- 
tified." 

"I  ought  to  know  him,"  Vida  replied 
wickedly.  "I  am  seriously  considering  an  of- 
fer of  marriage  from  him." 

"Let  him  go  then,"  the  revenue  man  di- 
rected. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  released." 

"You  have  to  be."  The  officer  silenced  him 
sternly. 

"How  about  the  telephone  man?"  Cochran, 
the  marshal,  enquired.  "I've  got  to  get  one 


"THE  ONLY  WAY"  299 

prisoner,  anyway,  or  I  won't  dare  show  up  in 
Detroit." 

"We'll  arrest  him  all  right,"  the  other  reas- 
sured him.  "He's  on  the  island  somewhere. 
It's  only  a  question  of  searching.  Now,  gen- 
tlemen," turning  to  us,  "it  will  save  any  un- 
pleasantness if  you  will  point  out  which  one  of 
you  is  in  the  employ  of  the  telephone  company. 
If  not  I  shall  be  forced  to  ask  all  of  you  who 
can  not  prove  who  you  are  to  accompany  me." 

There  was  no  answer.  No  one  of  us  was 
anxious  to  turn  informer. 

"I  have  a  description  of  Horace  Binns,"  said 
the  officer,  "although  at  present  he  is  travelling 
under  the  name  of  Kent.  Height  five  feet 
four  inches,  slender,  dark  hair  and  eyes — " 

"Excuse  me,"  interrupted  Bopp,  "what  are 
you  going  to  do  with  the  smuggler  when  you 
get  him?" 

"We  shall  have  to  take  him  to  Detroit  and 
thence  to  the  Federal  prison  at  Leavenworth, 
Kansas." 

"Will  you  give  him  a  square  meal?"  Bopp 
asked  anxiously. 


300  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Why,  yes,"  smiled  the  officer.  "We  have 
a  good  cook  on  board,  and  we  would  not  starve 
a  prisoner." 

"All  right,"  Bopp  sighed.  "Do  I  fit  the  de- 
scription?" 

The  officer  laughed.  "I  knew  you  all  the 
time,  Binns.  Step  lively,  get  aboard  and  we'll 
have  you  safe  in  jail  in  no  time." 

With  a  wink  to  the  rest  of  us,  Bopp  climbed 
into  the  boat  with  a  demeanor  that  otherwise 
would  have  been  a  credit  to  Sydney  Carton. 

When  the  boat  was  being  rowed  away,  he 
waved  farewell. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  reassured  us,  "I  won't  be 
in  jail  long." 

"We  won't  worry,"  I  answered  for  all. 
"Stay  as  long  as  you  like." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 
WHERE  IS  LIPTON  S.  CLAIR? 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

AFTER  the  tug  had  gone,  Clair  stood  looking 
disconsolately  after  it. 

"You  don't  seem  overjoyed  at  being  set 
free,"  I  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice,  so  that  the 
others  could  not  hear. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  I  wanted  to  be  arrested 
so  that  Miss  Dunmore  would  break  our  en- 
gagement? Jail  is  better  than  marriage  any 
time.  They  shorten  jail  sentences  for  good 
behavior."  He  shook  his  fist  at  the  departing 
tug.  "They  were  just  ready  to  have  breakfast 
on  board,  too." 

A  confusion  of  inarticulate  sounds  advised 
me  that  Miss  Dunmore  was  removing  the  gag 
from  her  hastily  adopted  mother's  mouth. 

"Who  are  you?"  Mrs.  Green  demanded,  as 
soon  as  she  could  speak.  "Where's  Lucile? 
What  is  the  next  thing  I  have  to  do,  loop  the 
loop  or  be  electrocuted?" 

303 


304  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"I'm  a  castaway,  wrecked  on  your  island," 
Vida  explained.  "Your  daughter  is  all  right." 

"Where  is  she?"  Mrs.  Green  fired  the 
question  at  me  as  if  I  were  in  some  way  re- 
sponsible. 

"Why — "  I  started  to  explain,  but  realized 
suddenly  that  Mrs.  Green  might  not  take 
kindly  to  the  idea  of  her  daughter's  present 
costume,  so  I  stopped. 

"She's  over  there."  Captain  Perkins  waved 
in  the  general  direction  of  the  thicket  where 
we  had  last  heard  Lucile. 

"Dead?"  Mrs.  Green  murmured,  leaning  for 
support  on  my  arm. 

"No,  no,"  interposed  Vida,  who  should  have 
done  the  explaining  in  the  first  place.  "She  is 
just  taking  a  nap.  She  has  had  such  a  terribly 
exhausting  experience  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  that  we  were  all  thankful  when  she 
dozed  off  a  little  while  ago.  Poor  thing,  the 
rest  will  do  her  a  world  of  good." 

"What's  she  sleeping  over  there  for  ?"  point- 
ing at  the  bushes.  "Why  isn't  she  in  her  own 
bed  in  the  house?" 

"Oh,   the   house,"   Vida   repeated   blankly. 


WHERE  IS  LIPTON  S.  CLAIR?     305 

"Didn't  anyone  tell  you?  There  isn't  any 
house." 

"No  house?     Why  not?" 

"Your  house,  madam,"  said  Captain  Per- 
kins, "has  been  consumed  by  the  devouring 
element."  He  quoted  a  fire  insurance  adver- 
tisement from  memory. 

"Well,  well,"  Mrs.  Green  repeated  in  a  daze. 
"Well,  well." 

Lipton  S.  Clair  plucked  me  by  the  sleeve  to 
attract  my  attention,  and  whispered  in  my  ear, 
"Where  are  my  pants?" 

"Why,"  I  replied,  "I  sent  them  over  to  Hunt- 
ingdon's Island,  as  I  promised  I  would." 

"Are  they  there  now  ?" 

"Yes.  Bill  left  them  in  the  kitchen  for 
you." 

"Then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  wear  this." 

"I  should  think  that  it  would  be  immodest 
if  you  didn't." 

He  walked  away.  With  his  skirts  held  out 
before  him  with  both  hands  as  if  he  expected 
something  to  drop  into  his  lap  from  heaven, 
stepping  high  because  he  couldn't  see  the 
ground  in  front  of  his  feet,  he  was  a  dead 


3o6  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

ringer  for  my  childhood's  conception  of  Elisha 
going  out  to  see  if  the  bears  would  bite  him. 
On  taking  a  second  look,  I  decided  that  he 
might  with  equal  facility  be  mistaken  for  one 
of  the  bears. 

"Take  me  to  my  daughter,"  Mrs.  Green  said 
with  a  sigh.  "Let  me  see  that  there  is  some- 
thing left  of  my  life  as  it  was  before  the  earth- 
quake." 

"You  can  see  her  if  you  wish,"  said  Vida 
calmly,  "but  I  assure  you  she  is  all  right,  and 
you  will  only  disturb  her  from  a  sleep  which 
she  needs  very,  very  much." 

Vida  is  an  admirable  liar.  Mrs.  Green  ac- 
tually believed  her,  and  ceased  to  worry  about 
Lucile.  Mrs.  Green  is  one  of  those  placid 
ladies  who  let  other  people  bully  them  and 
mould  their  very  thoughts.  Lucile  had  always 
made  her  mother  think  just  whatever  she  told 
her  to,  and  Vida  was  apparently  able  to  do  the 
trick  also. 

We  walked  up  to  inspect  the  ruins.  It  was 
as  nice  and  complete  a  set  of  ruins  as  I  have 
ever  gazed  upon.  Nothing  was  left  to  the 
imagination — the  whole  business  was  ruined. 


WHERE  IS  LIPTON  S.  CLAIR?     307 

While  we  were  engaged  in  that  mournful 
amusement,  a  tall,  muscular  young  man  walked 
into  our  circle  and  demanded,  "Where  is  Lip- 
ton  S.  Clair?" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 
A  WEDDING  INVITATION 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 


"NED!"  Vida  exclaimed,  rushing  toward 
him.  She  stopped  when  she  saw  his  face. 

He  brushed  past  her. 

"Ned  Blaney!"  shouted  Clair,  joyfully  ad- 
vancing toward  the  young  man. 

"You  treacherous  hound!"  hissed  Blaney, 
gazing  on  that  whiskered  travesty  without 
smiling.  "You  stole  the  only  woman  I  ever 
loved  away  from  me.  Heart  breaker!" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  Clair  admitted. 

"Viper!"  yelled  Blaney,  as  he  fell  on  his 
friend. 

It  would  have  been  a  fairer  fight  if  Clair 
had  not  been  hampered  by  his  skirts.  As  it 
was,  it  ended  with  Blaney  athwart  Clair's 
back,  grinding  his  nose  into  the  dirt. 

"I  give  up,"  choked  Clair.  "  I'll  marry 
her." 

"Marry   her?"     Blaney    shook   his    friend 

again.     "Not  while  I  live." 

311 


3i2  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Isn't  that  what  you're  trying  to  make  me 
do?"  Clair  expostulated,  as  well  as  he  could. 
"I  don't  want  to,  that's  certain." 

"Don't  you  see,  Ned,"  Vida  interrupted 
soothingly,  "he  doesn't  want  to  marry  me. 
Your  outrageous  jealousy  has  led  you  into 
making  mistakes  again." 

"But,"  doubted  Blaney,  still  retaining  his 
position  of  advantage  on  Clair's  back,  "every 
time  I  called  up  here  they  said  you  were  out 
together,  and  when  I  asked  for  you  on  the 
telephone  early  this  morning,  he  told  me  to  go 
to—" 

"I  was  the  one  you  were  talking  to,"  I  has- 
tened to  interrupt.  "The  house  was  burning 
down,  and  I  didn't  have  time  to  tell  you  that 
a  cinder  had  just  lit  on  my  ear  while  I  was 
talking  to  you." 

"Has  there  been  a  fire?"  asked  the  young 
man,  scrambling  to  his  feet.  "Were  you 
saved,  my  darling  Vida?" 

"I  was,"  Vida  said  gravely. 

The  excited  young  man  abandoned  his  pros- 
trate friend  and  rival  and  embraced  Vida. 

"Who,"  he  demanded,  releasing  her  and 


A  WEDDING  INVITATION       313 

holding  her  off  at  arm's  length,  "who  saved 
you?" 

"Mr.  Blainey,  here."  Vida  smiled  mischiev- 
ously in  my  face  as  she  directed  the  strenuous 
young  bear's  attention  my  way. 

"How?"  Blaney  made  his  demand,  jeal- 
ously picturing  Vida  a  limp  figure  in  my  arms. 

"By  rapping  on  my  door  and  shouting 
'Fire !'  you  goose,"  laughed  Vida. 

"Oh,  all  right,  then."  Blaney  admitted  her 
to  the  favour  of  his  arm  again. 

"Ned  apologizes  for  being  a  bear,"  Vida 
said  over  her  shoulder  to  Mrs.  Green,  who  was 
quite  overwhelmed  by  the  whirlwind  young 
gentleman. 

"I'm  sorry,"  corroborated  Blaney.  "I've 
been  under  a  terrible  nervous  strain.  First  I 
was  afraid  Vida  was  lost  in  the  storm  and  then 
when  I  tried  to  reach  her  she  was  always  away 
from  the  telephone.  Then,  this  morning  after 
I  called  up  and  couldn't  speak  to  her,  I  kept 
calling  again  and  again,  but  Central  said  the 
wire  was  dead.  I  was  nearly  frantic  till  I  got 
hold  of  a  rowboat  and  came  over.  It  was  an 
awful  pull  in  the  sea  that's  running  out  there. 


3i4  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

But  it's  all  right  now.  You  must  all  come 
over  to  Fair  View  to  see  Vida  and  me  get 
married  this  morning." 

Clair  was  listening  to  all  this  in  a  sort  of 
a  dazed  wonder. 

''Don't  I  have  to  marry  her?"  he  asked. 

"Have  to  marry  her  ?"  echoed  Blaney,  good- 
naturedly.  "Why,  you  old  rhinoceros,  you 
couldn't  trap  a  girl  into  marrying  you  even  if 
you  dressed  up  like  Mrs.  Katzen jammer  to 
please  her." 

"But  she  said — "  began  Clair. 

Vida  flashed  an  imploring  look  at  me. 
Clair  could  still  do  a  good  deal  of  damage  if 
he  revealed  all  that  she  had  said  and  done  try- 
ing to  win  that  wager  from  me. 

"She  said,"  I  repeated,  brushing  off  and  ad- 
justing Clair's  skirt,  which  had  suffered  sadly 
from  his  rough  and  tumble  encounter,  "she 
said  that  she  knew  she  would  like  you  because 
you  were  a  friend  of  Mr.  Blaney's." 

"Stop  pinching  my  leg,"  roared  Clair,  fail- 
ing to  get  the  significance  of  my  signal,  and 
whisking  his  skirts  out  of  my  grasp.  He 
glared  at  me  balef ully. 


A  WEDDING  INVITATION      315 

Blaney  laughed.  The  picture  Clair  made 
obliterated  the  recollection  of  his  jealousy  for 
a  moment.  Then  he  caught  sight  of  my  seal 
ring  on  Vida's  hand. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded. 

"That?"  echoed  Vida  blankly,  turning  the 
ring  on  her  finger.  She  had  forgotten 
that  she  was  wearing  it.  "That  is  a  seal 
ring." 

"Yes,  I  see  it  is,"  admitted  her  fiance  sar- 
castically. "Your  explanation  so  far  is  per- 
fectly satisfactory." 

"I  got  it  for  you,"  she  pouted,  "but  I  don't 
know  whether  to  give  it  to  you  or  not." 

When  Vida  had  definitely  cast  herself  for 
the  part  she  was  going  to  play,  she  went  ahead 
with  the  certainty  of  a  trained  artist. 

"Let's  see  it,"  Blaney  demanded  doubtfully. 

She  handed  it  to  him. 

"Hm !"  He  examined  it  closely.  "You  got 
this  for  me?  The  'B'  is  all  right  but  this 
other  initial  looks  like  an  'M/  ' 

"No,  it  doesn't,  dear,"  she  said.  "That's  an 
old  English  'N.'  The  old  Englishmen  did 
things  differently.  Their  'NY  always  look 


3i6  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

like  'M's/  I've  known  lots  of  old  English- 
men." 

"Oh,"  the  young  man  said,  slipping  the  ring 
on  his  finger.  "Thanks  awfully,  dear." 

That  was  the  end  of  my  ring. 

Bill  Johnson  ambled  up  to  our  party  with  a 
triumphant  grin  on  his  face. 

"She  shall  run,"  he  announced.  "For  two 
dollars  she  shall  take  everybody  to  Fair  View." 

"That's  a  lot  to  pay  if  you've  ever  spent  a 
day  in  Fair  View,"  said  the  prospective  bride- 
groom; "nevertheless,  I  will  pay  it  and  ask  you 
all  to  come  to  our  wedding  and  the  wedding 
breakfast." 

"Could  it  be  possible,"  Captain  Perkins 
asked,  "to  have  the  wedding  breakfast  first?" 

"I  think  it  could,"  laughed  Blaney. 

"Come  on,  everybody,"  invited  Vida. 

I  started  to  follow  the  others,  but  Vida 
dropped  back  to  my  side  and  whispered, 
"You're  not  invited." 

"What?"  I  exclaimed,  startled. 

"You're  not  supposed  to  come." 

"Why  not?" 

"If  I  were  you,  I  should  get  lost  in  the  woods 


A  WEDDING  INVITATION       317 

somewhere.  You  might  run  into  something  to 
your  advantage." 

"I  couldn't.     What  would  she  think  of  me  ?" 

"Try  it  and  find  out."  Vida  smiled  at  me 
quizzically.  "I'm  a  woman  myself,  and  I  can 
guess.  You  won't  need  to  make  any  advances. 
Don't  you  want  her  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Then  don't  bother  about  anyone  else's  wed- 
ding breakfast.  Just  attend  to  your  own." 

"She's  engaged  to  Bopp,"  I  protested  feebly. 

"To  make  you  angry,"  she  whispered.  "I 
can't  talk  to  you  any  more  because  Ned  is  get- 
ting red  behind  his  ears.  That  means  that  he 
is  fearfully  jealous.  I  must  run  along  and  be 
scolded.  Think  it  over." 

She  skipped  blithely  to  the  side  of  her  soon- 
to-be  lord  and  master  (maybe),  smiling  into 
his  face  with  a  look  so  childlike  and  ingratiat- 
ing that  Othello  would  have  eaten  the  bolster 
himself  had  he  been  in  Blaney's  shoes. 

Mrs.  Green  halted  the  procession. 

"I  can't  go  without  Lucile." 

"Mr.  Blainey  will  explain  it  to  Lucile," 
Vida  assured  her,  taking  my  acquiescence  for 


3i8  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

granted.  "You  see,  I  need  you  terribly  be- 
cause I  have  no  other  woman  friend  with  me. 
My  own  mother — "  her  lips  quivered. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Green.  "Has  she 
been  dead  long?" 

"She  isn't  dead,  but  she's  in  a  stock  company 
in  St.  Louis." 

"You  really  ought  to  go  to  the  mainland," 
I  said,  thinking  to  help  matters  out,  "in  order 
to  bring  back  some  clothes  for  Lucile." 

"What's  that?"  Mrs.  Green  turned. 
"Hasn't  she  any  clothes  on?" 

"Certainly,"  Vida  hopped  into  the  breach 
sure-footedly,  "she  has  plenty  of  clothes  on, 
but  they  would  not  be  suitable  for  her  to  wear 
to  go  over  to  the  mainland  and  register  at  a 
hotel." 

Vida  spoke  the  truth  almost  as  convincingly 
as  she  lied. 

"Please  come,"  she  urged. 

"I'll  go,"  decided  the  older  woman. 

Fortunately  she  forgot  that  her  own  costume 
was  a  trifle  bizarre  for  a  morning  wedding, 
even  in  Fair  View. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 
"THE  HONOR  OF  THIEVES" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

I  CONDUCTED  the  company  to  the  dock  and 
saw  that  they  were  made  as  comfortable  as 
possible  in  the  Merry  Widow.  When  I  would 
have  cast  off  the  lines  by  which  she  was  fas- 
tened to  the  dock,  Bill  Johnson  remonstrated. 

"She  shan't  go — not  until  the  young  mans 
comes  what  say  he  shall  pay  three  dollar  to 
come  over." 

"What  young  man  ?"  Mrs.  Green  demanded. 

"Why,  just  a  young  man."  I  looked  help- 
lessly at  Vida  for  assistance.  I  couldn't  tell 
the  truth  and  I  thought  maybe  an  idea  would 
occur  to  her. 

One  did. 

"It's  Clarence  Jones,"  said  Vida. 

"A  friend  of  yours  ?"  Blaney  eyed  her  dis- 
trustfully. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  Vida  said  glibly;  "he's  an 
old  college  friend  of  the  other  Mr.  Blainey." 

"What's  he  doing  here?" 
321 


322  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Why,  he  just  dropped  in." 

"Oh — he  was  passing  by  in  this  old  tub 
and—" 

"She  not  be  tub  by  damsite."  Only  one 
thing  would  rouse  Bill's  anger,  an  insult  to  his 
craft.  "Yee  Viss,  there  ain't  not  a  better 
boat—" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  apolo- 
gized Blaney.  "All  that  I  want  to  say  is  that 
if  this  guy  Jones  is  going  back  in  the  boat,  I'm 
not.  Jones  sounds  to  me  like  a  fishy  name." 

"It  is,"  Vida  teased.  "I've  met  a  great 
many  fish  named  Jones." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Green  declared,  "I  certainly 
am  not  going  to  leave  the  island  while  there  is 
a  strange  young  man  roaming  around." 

She  started  to  get  out  of  the  boat. 

"Wait !"  I  halted  her.     "I'll  go  and  get  him." 

"He  don't  go  in  this  boat,"  stated  Blaney. 

"If  he  doesn't,  I  won't  go,"  asserted  Mrs. 
Green,  with  equal  firmness. 

"Bill,"  I  commanded,  "get  that  row  boat 
that  Mr.  Blaney  rowed  over  in  and  tie  it  on 
behind  the  Merry  Widow." 

I  departed  for  the  summer  house,  vaguely 


323 

wondering  if  I  could  silence  the  reporter  with- 
out using  chloroform. 

When  I  entered  the  summer  house  he  eyed 
me  with  a  cold  gleaming  sort  of  hate,  that 
made  me  think  of  Italian  daggers  or  Malay 
krisses. 

"If  I  let  you  go,"  I  began  the  parley,  "how 
much  will  you  take  to  shut  up  and  not  ask  any 
questions  ?" 

"Nothing  doing,"  he  declared  without  hesi- 
tation. "I'm  going  to  get  you,  and  I'm  going 
to  get  you  good." 

"That's  all  right,"  I  conciliated.  "You  can 
get  me  just  as  soon  as  you  like,  but  all  I  ask 
is  that  you  do  nothing  to  injure  some  perfectly 
harmless  people." 

He  looked  at  me  keenly. 

"You're  not  the  care-taker  here,  as  I 
thought,  are  you  ?" 

"Why,  no,"  I  replied  modestly,  "not  in  a 
professional  way,  anyhow." 

"Who  are  you?"  His  newspaper  instinct 
made  him  put  the  usual  questions  in  spite  of  his 
dislike. 

"I'm  just  a  guest,"  I  said. 


324  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"I  know,  but  where  shall  I  find  you  if  you 
dare  meet  me  when  we  get  off  this  island  and 
my  hands  aren't  tied?  What's  your  name?" 

"You  can  find  me  any  time  you  like  in  the 
editorial  rooms  in  the  New  York  Planet  and  my 
name  is  Blainey." 

"Not  Montmorency  Blainey,  the  dramatic 
critic?" 

"That's  the  one."  I  was  gratified  that  my 
fame  had  spread  so  far. 

"They  say,"  quoted  the  reporter,  "that  you 
are  the  worst  dramatic  critic  in  New  York." 

"That  is  an  enviable  distinction,"  I  mur- 
mured, "in  a  place  where  they  are  so  numerous 
and  so  bad." 

"What  I  mean  is,  that  you  are  the  most 
severe.  If  a  play  gets  praise  from  you,  it's 
sure  of  success." 

"Well,  hardly  that,"  I  explained.  "I  have 
picked  a  good  many  winners,  that's  all." 

The  young  man  offered  himself  some  mental 
problem  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he  looked 
up  at  me. 

"I've  written  a  play,"  he  announced. 

"Only  one?"  I  asked,  with  simulated  inter- 


325 

est.  "Almost  every  person  in  the  United 
States  has  written  one  play.  To  attain  dis- 
tinction you  must  measure  your  dramatic 
achievements  by  the  bushel." 

"But  mine  is  different." 

"Yes?     Wherein  lies  the  difference?" 

"Mine  is  going  to  be  produced." 

"That  may  or  may  not  be  an  advantage." 

"With  your  help  it  is  going  to  be  an  advan- 
tage." 

"How  is  that?"  I  enquired  politely,  with  a 
sinking  premonition  of  what  my  part  was 
going  to  be. 

"When  the  play  is  produced  you  are  going 
to  hail  it  as  the  great  American  play  of  the 
century.  No  matter  if  the  other  critics  con- 
demn it,  they  will  qualify  their  criticism  when 
they  note  your  enthusiasm.  They  will  go 
again  and  discover  subtle  merits  that  escaped 
their  first  attention.  Started  by  your  pane- 
gyric, its  fame  will  grow,  the  public  will  attend, 
I  shall  get  contracts  for  more  plays  and  I  shall 
have  arrived." 

"Very  clever,"  I  sneered,  "but  your  play  is 
probably  rotten,  and  I  shall  tell  the  public  so." 


326  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

"Then  I'll  tell  all  I  know  about  what  has 
happened  on  Green's  Island,  and  I  shall  hint 
at  a  lot  of  things  I  don't  know.  If  you  will 
agree  to  like  my  play,  I'll  promise  to  shut  up 
and  not  ask  any  more  questions." 

He  looked  me  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"Does  Mrs.  Green  ordinarily  drink  too 
much?"  he  asked. 

His  guess  was  too  near  the  mark  for  com- 
fort. I  took  out  my  knife  and  cut  his  bonds. 

"Thanks,  old  man,"  said  the  reporter,  slowly 
stretching  his  aching  muscles  before  attempt- 
ing to  get  up. 

"They  are  waiting  to  take  you  back  to  Fair 
View,"  I  informed  him. 

"They?"  he  enquired.     "Who  are  they?" 

"All  the  principal  characters  in  that  story 
you  were  going  to  write.  By  the  way,  your 
name  is  Jones — Clarence  Jones — you're  an  old 
school  friend  of  mine." 

"Any  particulars?"  he  asked,  as  we  walked 
down  to  the  dock. 

"It  isn't  necessary.  They  won't  have  a 
chance  to  pump  you  because  you  are  going  to 
be  towed  behind  the  rest  in  a  row  boat." 


"THE  HONOR  OF  THIEVES"     327 

"Why  is  that?" 

"You  promised  not  to  ask  any  more  ques- 
tions," I  reminded  him. 

He  subsided,  racking  his  brain  for  a  reason 
for  such  a  fool  piece  of  business. 

At  the  dock  I  introduced  him  perfunctorily 
to  his  fellow  voyagers  and  he  took  his  seat 
docilely  in  the  row  boat. 

Bill  Johnson  cranked  up  his  engine  and  the 
Merry  Widow  started  blithely  away.  When 
she  was  a  few  feet  from  the  dock,  the  engine 
stopped. 

"What's  the  matter?  Broke  down?"  I 
shouted. 

"No,"  answered  Bill,  "I  yust  stop  her  be- 
cause you  forgot  to  tal  me  what  for  Mrs.  Green 
be  on  Huntingdon's  Island.  You  say  you  tal 
me  and  you  forget." 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Green,  "and  I  want 
to  know  how  I  came  to  be  floating  out  on  the 
lake  during  the  storm  with  my  red  dress  on." 

I  reflected  a  moment. 

"The  young  man  in  the  row  boat  knows  all 
about  it,"  I  shouted.  "You  can  ask  him  as 


328  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

soon  as  you  get  to  the  mainland."  I  didn't 
add  that  he  wouldn't  answer. 

"Mr.  Blainey,"  yelled  the  reporter  as  the 
engine  started  up  again. 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"The  name  of  that  play  is,  'The  Honor  of 
Thieves.' " 

"All  right."     I  waved  my  hand  in  farewell. 

The  Merry  Widow  towed  my  troubles 
around  a  point  of  land  at  the  entrance  of  the 
cove  and  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 
THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

I  SMILED  to  myself  as  I  turned  away,  and  I 
whistled  an  aria  that  was  partly  Puccini's  and 
partly  my  own  in  places  where  I  couldn't  re- 
member the  original. 

The  provisions  I  had  brought  from  Hunt- 
ingdon's Island  were  still  where  I  had  hid- 
den them.  I  took  them  with  me.  If  I  was 
going  to  get  thoroughly  lost,  at  least  I  should 
be  well  provisioned. 

On  my  way  to  the  trackless  depths  of  this 
half-mile  wide  wilderness  I  stopped  at  the  sum- 
mer house  and  unearthed  some  tea  things  which 
I  knew  were  stored  there  in  a  locker.  There 
was  a  lunch  cloth,  silver,  china,  a  small  caddy 
of  tea  and  tiny  water  heater,  all  of  which  I 
added  to  my  pack. 

With  a  last  look  at  the  lake  which  was  now 
a  jewelled  mirror  for  the  sun  I  plunged 
through  the  underbrush  into  the  warm,  soft  by- 
paths of  the  forest.  The  leaves  rustled  pleas- 

331 


332  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

antly  under  foot  as  I  walked  along  and  the 
squirrels  and  birds  overhead  scolded  me  and 
told  one  another  that  there  was  a  gypsy  chief- 
tain abroad  in  the  forest.  For  surely  the  birds 
and  the  squirrels  recognized  my  character  even 
if  some  of  the  outward  signs  and  trappings 
were  missing.  A  slight  breeze,  only  a  tattered 
shred  of  the  boisterous  storm  that  had  passed, 
stirred  the  leaves  just  enough  to  shake  through 
an  occasional  dancing  sunbeam. 

After  I  had  lost  myself  in  the  forest  as  far 
as  I  could  without  coming  out  again  on  the 
other  side,  I  put  down  my  burden  and  pre- 
pared to  abandon  myself  to  despair  as  comfort- 
ably as  possible.  I  was  rather  relieved  to  find 
that  I  had  given  up  hope  of  finding  my  way, 
very  close  to  the  spring  which  I  believe  I  have 
mentioned  as  existing  on  the  island.  At  any 
rate  I  should  not  die  of  thirst. 

A  fairly  flat  tree-stump  looked  extraordinar- 
ily like  a  table  when  a  cloth  was  spread  on  it 
and  places  set  for  two.  There  was  a  cheerful 
look,  too,  about  the  tea-kettle  when  the  alcohol 
lamp  under  it  had  been  lit  long  enough  to  make 
it  send  out  tiny  curly  spirals  of  steam.  And 


THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN       333 

over  all  a  flicker  of  sunlight  romped  about  the 
table  as  if  the  fairy,  "Tinker  Bell,"  were  touch- 
ing the  dishes  to  make  it  a  magic  feast. 

Opening  the  canned  goods  was  no  difficult 
matter  to  one  who  had  successfully  done  bat- 
tle with  a  half  a  bushel  of  reluctant  clams. 
There  were  sardines,  potted  ham,  peanut  but- 
ter, jam  and  a  tin  of  crackers.  Of  course  such 
things  are  not  to  be  compared  to  a  steak  with 
mushrooms  or  turkey  with  cranberry  sauce  or 
even  ham  and  eggs,  but  they  have  certain  at- 
tractions for  the  person  who  has  not  eaten  for 
several  days  which  I  need  hardly  dwell  upon. 

I  did  not  eat,  though.  Instead  I  leisurely 
brewed  a  pot  of  tea.  I  had  never  cared  a 
great  deal  about  tea  before,  but  the  aroma  of 
that  particular  brew  will  haunt  me  when  other 
perfumes  have  lost  their  savor. 

I  drew  up  two  pieces  of  fallen  tree  trunk  to 
serve  as  chairs  and  seated  myself  on  one  side 
of  the  table.  My  trap  was  ready. 

Presently  there  was  a  sound  of  breaking 
twigs  in  the  underbrush  nearby.  I  pretended 
not  to  notice.  Then  Tootles  came  forth,  frisk- 
ing and  wagging  her  tail.  I  petted  her. 


334  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

Someone  coughed  in  back  of  me.  I  turned. 
Parting  the  bushes  on  either  side  like  the  folds 
of  a  heavy  green  velvet  drop  curtain,  stood  the 
shy  spirit  of  the  wood. 

"I  had  to  make  you  turn  around,"  she  said 
apologetically,  "and  get  it  over  with." 

Never  was  a  fairer  Rosalind.  She  held  up 
her  head  with  a  fine  courage  in  spite  of  the 
crimson  blushes  which  chased  each  other  over 
her  face  and  neck,  and  she  stood  straight  in  the 
high-heeled  soft  kid  boots,  a  slender  figure,  al- 
most boyish,  save  for  a  slightly  curving  bosom 
and  a  soft  roundness  of  the  knee. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  I  had  risen  when 
she  first  appeared  and  I  indicated  the  rough  log 
seat  opposite  mine. 

"Were  you  expecting  someone?"  she  asked, 
casting  an  anxious  look  at  the  seat.  She  was 
wishing  she  was  in  it  with  her  boots  under  the 
table  cloth. 

"Why,  yes,"  I  pretended  to  be  hesitant  about 
confiding  in  her.  "I  was  expecting  someone,  a 
lady,  one  that  I  am  very  fond  of,  but  I  am 
afraid  that  she  has  disappointed  me.  Won't 
you  take  her  place?" 


THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN        335 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  simply  and  slid  into 
the  seat. 

When  I  poured  her  some  of  the  tea  and  of- 
fered her  such  food  as  was  available  she  ac- 
cepted everything  and  ate  with  unembarrassed 
appetite.  It  may  sound  unromantic  to  say  that 
we  satisfied  our  hunger  without  conversation, 
but  remember  that  there  had  been  many  hours 
when  talk  had  been  our  only  substitute  for 
food.  Tootles  had  some  of  everything,  includ- 
ing tea,  which  proves  to  my  mind  conclusively 
that  she  isn't  a  regular  dog.  But  no  more  of 
that. 

"I'm  sorry,"  my  vis-a-vis  said  at  last,  leaning 
forward  with  her  chin  resting  on  the  backs  of 
her  clasped  hands,  "I'm  sorry  to  be  sitting  in 
the  place  of  someone  else  whom  you  would  pre- 
fer to  have  here."  Then  she  added,  with  a 
little  sigh,  "That  is,  if  you  would  prefer  some- 
one else." 

"I  would  and  I  wouldn't,"  I  smiled.  "I  am 
trying  to  imagine  that  you  are  she." 

"In  these — in  this  costume?" 

"It  is  difficult  to  imagine  her  dressed  as  you 
are,  but  not  impossible.  I  admit  though,  that 


336  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

it  would  be  easier  to  picture  you  in  her  dress 
than  her  in  yours." 

"What  do  you  suppose  was  the  reason  that 
she  did  not  come?" 

"She  is  angry  with  me." 

"How  could  she  be?" 

"I  have  displeased  her." 

"If  she  has  been  angry  it  must  be  that  she 
forgot  for  the  moment  how  brave  you  are  and 
how  kind." 

"She  said  she  never  wanted  to  see  me  again." 

"And  you  said  you  would  never  enter  her 
house  again.  Yet  you  broke  your  word  when 
she  was  in  danger  and  she  was  very  glad  to 
see  you  indeed."  She  reached  across  the  table 
impulsively  and  laid  her  small  brown  fingers 
in  my  palm. 

"What  would  you  do,"  I  asked,  "if  you  were 
she?" 

"I'd  come  and  find  you,"  she  answered,  "and 
when  I'd  found  you,  I'd  put  my  hands  in  yours, 
just  like  this,  and  I'd  ask  your  forgiveness  for 
being  a  cross,  cranky,  old  maid." 

"But  she  isn't  an  old  maid."  I  held  her 
fingers  tightly  lest  she  draw  them  away. 


THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN       337 

"She'll  be  twenty-five  tomorrow."  She 
laughed.  "And  if  a  girl  isn't  married  by  the 
time  she  is  twenty-five  she  is  an  old  maid." 

"Then  she'll  never  be  an  old  maid,"  I  de- 
clared, "because  by  this  time  tomorrow  she'll 
be  married.  That  is,"  I  added,  "if  she'll  ac- 
cept a  stout,  middle-aged  man  for  a  husband." 

"There  isn't  one  on  this  island,"  she  declared, 
looking  at  me  with  shining  eyes.  "You  can't 
claim  to  be  stout  when  your  belt  nearly  reaches 
around  you  twice.  Monty,"  she  gave  my  hand 
a  quick  little  squeeze,  "you're  a  dear." 

"Will  you  marry  me?"  I  asked. 

"Of  course.  I  decided  that  long  ago.  Do 
you  suppose  I'd  let  any  man  see  me  in  this  cos- 
tume unless  he  was  going  to  marry  me  ?" 

I  pulled  her  toward  me. 

"Excuse  me,  folks,"  said  a  voice,  "I  hate  like 
the  deuce  to  butt  in  on  the  Sothern  and  Mar- 
lowe stuff  and  I  certainly  have  enjoyed  it,  but 
I've  got  to  make  a  get-away  and  I  can't  do  a 
Brodie  out  of  this  tree  without  disturbing  you." 

We  looked  up  at  the  anxious  face  of  Kent 
peering  between  the  branches. 

"That  revenue  boat  is  coming  back,  and  it's  a 


338  FIVE  FRIDAYS 

cinch  they're  going  to  get  me  this  time  if  I 
stick  around  this  dinky  island.  I've  got  to  beat 
it." 

He  scrambled  down. 

"How  can  you  get  away?"  I  asked. 

"The  launch,"  he  explained  briefly.  "I've 
been  fixing  her  up  on  the  q.  t.  this  week  getting 
ready  for  an  emergency.  She  looks  good  for 
fifteen  miles  an  hour." 

"Sixteen,"  corrected  Lucile. 

"All  the  better  then.  I'll  lose  'em  out  there. 
I  don't  suppose  you  two  doves  will  mind  if  I 
keep  'em  so  busy  that  they  ain't  got  time  to 
land  Mr.  Bopp  for  an  hour  or  so."  He 
grinned. 

"Not  a  bit,"  I  answered.     "Good  luck." 

He  started  for  the  cove.  I  watched  him  out 
of  sight. 

When  I  turned  back,  the  bench  opposite  me 
was  empty.  A  slender  figure  was  stealthily 
making  for  the  shelter  of  the  thicket. 

When  I  had  caught  her  and  punished  her  as 
she  deserved  for  desertion  I  still  held  her  tight 
in  my  arms  for  fear  she  would  escape  me  again. 

"By  the  way,"  I  asked  casually  some  time 


THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN        339 

later,  "where  would  you  like  to  spend  your 
honeymoon  ?" 

She  considered  a  moment  and  then  parted 
her  lips  in  a  slow  smile. 

"I  think  I'd  like  to  spend  our  honeymoon  in 
a  dining-car." 


THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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A     000  038  361     2 


